Priestess of the White

“I swear I will not.”

Auraya and Leiard. Why hadn’t I seen it? Did I so badly need to believe her judgment was faultless that I could not see what I didn’t want to see?

Mairae looked away and sighed. “I feel for her. One can’t force the heart to choose wisely. It has a way of choosing for itself. Juran sent him away. It’ll take a while before she forgives Juran, I think.”

“Where is she?”

She turned to regard him. “We don’t know. She refuses to answer our calls. I believe she isn’t far away. She will return when the war begins, if not earlier.”

“Of course,” he agreed. For some reason saying it aloud made him feel better. She would come back. Perhaps only at the last moment, perhaps full of accusations, but she would come back.

Mairae chuckled. “Don’t blame yourself, Danjin Spear. If anyone is to blame for this it is me, not the least for urging you to consider who Auraya might be visiting. I think you have to agree that separating them will be for the best. For her and Northern Ithania.”

He nodded. She was right, yet he couldn’t help feeling a fatherly disappointment in Auraya. Of all the men of the world, she couldn’t have chosen a more inappropriate lover. Leiard, too, should have seen the consequences of their affair and ended it.

His respect for the Dreamweaver had diminished. Apparently even wise heathen healers can befools in the face of love, he thought wryly.

The servant was now packing the last of Auraya’s tent and belongings onto a tarn. As the man turned to regard them expectantly, Mairae took a step away from Danjin.

“I’m glad we talked about this,” she said. “Take good care of Mischief. We should reach the pass tonight. I’ll see you in the war-council tent.”

He made the sign of the circle, then watched her stride away. When she moved out of sight he picked up Mischief’s cage, told the servants to join the procession and started toward the advisers’ tarn.

* * *

Auraya paced.

The grass she was trampling grew on a stony ledge that ran along the steep side of a valley. The valley ran roughly parallel to the one the east-west road followed in order to reach the pass. She imagined explorers of ancient times wasting days following this valley in the hope of crossing the range. They would have been sorely disappointed when they reached the sheer cliffs and difficult terrain at the end. A climber might have managed to cross the mountains from here, but no ordinary traveller and certainly no platten or tarn could have.

She ought to be in the next valley, not here.

Why can’t I bring myself to return? Juran’s not responsible for Leiard’s faithlessness. Even if he was, I can’t punish the whole of Northern Ithania for his actions.

Yet she couldn’t bring herself to rejoin the army. At first it had seemed reasonable and sensible to spend a few hours alone. Her mind was a whirling mess of anger, pain and guilt and she was afraid that if she returned she would either scream her anger at Juran or turn into a tearful mess. She needed to get a grip on herself first.

Those hours had turned into a day, and the day into three. Every time she thought she had regained control of her feelings and started flying toward the pass, she soon found herself reversing direction again. The first time it was seeing the Dreamweavers in the distance that had caused her to veer away; the next it was a caravan of whores. Last night it had been nothing but the thought of facing Juran again. All brought up intense feelings that she was not sure she could keep hidden.

They’ll reach the pass tonight, she thought. I’ll rejoin them then. Perhaps I’ll simply be there when they arrive. Yes, they’ll be too relieved to have reached their destination to pay much attention to me.

She sighed and shook her head. This shouldn’t be happening. It wouldn’t be happening if it weren’t for Juran. Perhaps she ought to be grateful to him, as his actions had caused her to see Leiard’s true nature.

It was like looking into the mind of a different person, she thought, shaking her head. I thought I knew him so well. I thought having a mind-reading Gift meant nobody could deceive me. Obviously that isn’t true.

She’d always sensed something mysterious about Leiard. He had hidden depths, she’d told herself. She’d attributed this difference between Leiard’s mind and the mind of ordinary people or other Dreamweavers to the link memories he had. Now she knew that there was more to it. She knew he was capable of hiding a part of himself from her.

Leiard had told her the link memories sometimes manifested as another mind within his own. He had even told her this shadow of Mirar didn’t like her, but she had never sensed this other personality. Never heard it speak.

She had to accept that she might not have been able to. The trouble was, if Leiard was capable of hiding a part of himself, he also might be capable of lying to her. It was possible this notion of another personality in his mind was simply an explanation he hoped she’d believe if she ever sensed his true feelings.

She groaned. This is going nowhere! I’ve been tormenting myself about it for days. If I could just think about something else...

Looking around, she considered her surroundings. The ledge continued to her left and right. Some time in the distant past the surface of the slope had slipped downward, leaving rock exposed and a ledge that ran down to the valley floor in one direction and up toward the peaks in the other. Most of the ledge was hidden behind trees and plants, but with the vegetation cleared and the surface levelled it could easily become a narrow road.

Maybe it was an old abandoned road. A road to where? Curiosity aroused, she decided to follow it. She made her way through the trees and vegetation choking the ledge. After a few hundred strides the path ended. A steep slope fell to the valley floor on one side. The wall on her right was a jumble of rocks, half hidden behind grasses that had grown in the soil between them.

She turned to retrace her steps, and froze in surprise.

A glowing figure stood a few feet away. Tall and strong, but not heavily built, he was the picture of athletic maleness. His perfect masculine mouth curled up into a smile.

:Auraya.

“Chaia!”

She dropped to the ground, heart racing. I left it too long. I should have returned sooner. Suddenly her self-pity seemed foolish. Selfish. She felt ashamed of herself. She had forgotten her duty to the gods and their patience had run out...

:Not yet, Auraya. But it is time you forgave yourself and your fellow White. Rise and face me.

She climbed to her feet, but kept her eyes downcast.

:Do not be ashamed of your feelings. You are but a human, and a young human at that. You have an empathy for those not like yourself. It is only natural that your empathy can become love.

He moved closer, then reached a hand toward her face. As his fingers met her cheek she felt a tingling sensation. There was no sense of pressure. He was insubstantial. His touch was the touch of pure magic.

:We know you have not abandoned your people. You should not linger here alone any longer, however. You are in danger and I would not like to see any harm come to you.

He stepped close. She looked up at him and felt sadness and anger slip away. There was only room for awe. He smiled as a parent might smile at a child, with indulgent affection. Then he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers.

And vanished.

She gasped and took two steps backward. He kissed me! Chaia kissed me! She touched her lips. The memory of the sensation was strong. What does it mean?

The kiss of a god could not be the same as the kiss of a mortal. She remembered how he had smiled at her like a parent amused by a child. That was how she must appear to him. A child.

And parents don’t kiss their children when they are angry, she reminded herself. They kiss to comfort and to convey their love. That must be it.