Priestess of the White

Rimo glanced around, expecting to see someone hurrying after the Dreamweaver. His stomach sank as he realized he was the only guide standing close by. For a moment he considered pretending he hadn’t noticed the heathen, but that might be regarded as being just as bad as inviting the man into the sacred buildings. With a sigh, Rimo forced himself to go after the man.

As he drew near, the Dreamweaver stopped and turned to regard him. I only have to find out what he wants, Rimo told himself. And then tell him to leave. But what if he won’t go? What if he tries to force his way in? Well, there’re plenty of priests about to help if it comes to that.

“May I assist you?” Rimo asked stiffly.

The Dreamweaver’s gaze fixed somewhere past Rimo’s head. Or perhaps inside his head.

“I have a message to deliver.”

The heathen drew a cylinder out from under his robes. Rimo frowned. A message to deliver? That would mean allowing the heathen to continue further into the Temple grounds, perhaps even enter the buildings. He couldn’t let that happen.

“Give it to me,” he demanded. “I will see that it is delivered.”

To Rimo’s relief, the Dreamweaver handed him the scroll. “Thank you,” he said, then turned and walked back toward the gate.

Rimo looked down at the cylinder in his hands. It was a simple wooden message-holder. As he read the recipient’s name inked onto the side he drew in a quick breath of astonishment. He stared at the Dreamweaver. This was just too strange. The recipient was “High Priestess Auraya.” Why was a heathen delivering messages to Auraya of the White?

Perhaps the man had stolen it in order to see the contents. Rimo examined the cylinder carefully, but the seal was whole and there were no signs of tampering. Still, it was too strange. Other priests might ask questions. He considered the retreating man’s back, then made himself stride forward in pursuit.

“Dreamweaver.”

The man stopped and looked back, and his brow creased with a frown.

“How is it that you were charged with the delivery of this message?” Rimo demanded.

The man’s lips thinned. “I wasn’t. I encountered the courier a few days ago, drunk and unconscious beside the road. Since I am acquainted with the recipient, and was headed in this direction, I decided to bring it myself.”

Rimo glanced at the name on the scroll. Acquainted with the recipient? Surely not. Still, it was always better to be cautious.

“Then I will see she gets this immediately,” he said.

Rimo turned away quickly and started toward the White Tower. After several steps he glanced back and saw that, to his relief, the Dreamweaver had passed through the arched entrance of the Temple and was walking toward the west side of the city. He looked at the recipient’s name again and smiled. If he was lucky, he might get to deliver this personally. Now that would be a story to tell.

Feeling excitement growing, he lengthened his stride and hurried toward the entrance of the White Tower.

The Sennon ambassador began another long digression into a story from his land’s history - something his people were in the habit of doing when making a point. Auraya’s expression shifted slightly. To all who had observed this meeting she would have appeared absorbed by the man’s conversation. Danjin was beginning to read her better and saw signs of forced patience. Like most plain-speaking Hanians, she was finding the Sennon’s endlessly embellished conversation tedious.

“We would be honored, indeed pleased beyond rapture, if you were to visit the city of stars. Since the gods chose the great Juran a century ago we have been blessed with only nine opportunities to receive and accommodate the Gods’ Chosen. It would be wonderful, do you not agree, if the newest of the gods’ representatives should be the next to walk the streets of Karienne and climb the dunes of Hemmed?”

That’s all? Danjin suppressed a sigh. The ambassador’s elaborate speech had been leading to nothing more than an invitation to visit his country. Though he is also pointing out that the White rarely visit Sennon. It would be no surprise if the Sennons were feeling a bit neglected.

The trouble was, Sennon was separated from Hania by a mountain range and a desert, and the road to Karienne was a long and difficult one. Dunway was also located across the mountains, but could at least be reached by sea. Sennon’s main port was situated on the opposite end of the continent. In good weather a sea journey could take months. In bad, it could take longer than the overland route. If Sennon did eventually become an ally, the White would have to make that journey more often.

Danjin suspected that the other reason the White were reluctant to invest time in the journey was that a large number of Sennons still worshipped dead gods. The emperors of Sennon, past and present, had always supported the belief that their people should be free to worship whoever and whatever they wanted, and that whether the gods these people worshipped were real or not wasn’t for rulers to decide. They would probably continue to do so as long as the Sennon “religion tax” added to their wealth.

Only one cult objected to the situation as loudly as Circlians. They called themselves the Pentadrians. Like the Circlians, they followed five gods, but that was the only similarity. Their gods did not exist, so they beguiled their followers with tricks and enchantments. It was said the Pentadrians sacrificed slaves to these gods, and indulged in orgiastic fertility rituals. No doubt these acts ensured that their followers did not dare to doubt the existence of their gods, lest he or she find there had been no justification for their depravity.

Auraya glanced at Danjin and he felt his face heat with embarrassment. He was supposed to be paying attention to the ambassador’s continuing ramble in order to provide her with a ready source of insight. I guess I was providing insight - just not the kind she can use right at this moment.

The door to the room opened and Dyara entered. Danjin noted with amusement the way the older woman examined Auraya critically, like a mother looking for faults in her child’s behavior. He resisted a smile. It would take time before Auraya carried herself with the same air of self-assurance that Dyara had. Auraya was in an interesting position, having moved from one of the highest positions a mortal priestess could attain to what was, as far as age and experience went, the lowest position among the immortals.

“A message has arrived from your home, Auraya,” Dyara said. “Do you wish to receive it now?”

Auraya’s eyes brightened. “Yes. Thank you.”

Dyara stepped aside, allowing an initiate of the priesthood to enter and hesitantly present a message cylinder.

Auraya smiled at the young man, then blinked in surprise. As Dyara ushered the messenger from the room Auraya broke the seal and tipped out a slip of paper. Danjin could see that there were few marks on the vellum. He heard a sharply indrawn breath and looked at Auraya closely. She had turned pale.

Auraya glanced at Dyara who frowned and turned to the ambassador. “I trust you have enjoyed your visit to the Temple, Ambassador Shemeli. Might I accompany you on your way out?”

The man hesitated, then bowed slightly. “I would be most honored, Dyara of the White.” He formed a circle with both hands and bowed his head to Auraya. “It was a pleasure speaking to you, Auraya of the White. I hope that we may continue our acquaintance soon.”

She met his eyes and nodded. “As do I.”

As Dyara drew the man out of the room, Danjin studied Auraya closely. The newest White was gazing intently at a vase, but he was sure it was not the subject of her attention. Was that a glitter of tears in her eyes?

Danjin looked away, not wanting to discomfort her by staring. As the silence continued he began to feel uncomfortable. There was something a little unsettling about seeing one of the White tearful, he mused. They were supposed to be strong. In control. But she isn’t exactly an old hand at this, he reminded himself. And I’d prefer that those who guided humans in matters of law and morality still had human feelings rather than none at all.

The door opened and Dyara stepped inside again, her hand lingering on the door handle.

“I’m sorry, Auraya. Spend the rest of the day as you wish. I will come and see you this evening when I am