Priestess of the White

Tanara gripped his hand, her eyes wide. “Not a priestess,” she gasped. “More than a priestess. She’s... she’s...” She stared at Leiard. “You’re a friend of Auraya of the White?”

“I...” Auraya of the what? He looked down at Auraya, who wore a grimace of embarrassment. He looked at the circ. It bore no gold edging of a high priestess. It bore no edging at all.

“When did this happen?” he found himself asking.

She smiled apologetically. “Nine, ten days ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was waiting for the right moment.”

Tanara let go of Leiard’s hand. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to spoil the surprise.”

Auraya laughed ruefully. “It doesn’t matter.” She took the tray and put it on the bench beside her. “I should be apologizing for causing you so much distress. I should have arranged to meet Leiard elsewhere.”

Tanara shook her head. “No! You’re welcome here. Any time you wish to visit please don’t hesitate to —”

Auraya’s eyes narrowed a fraction, then she smiled broadly and stood up. “Thank you, Tanara Baker. That means more to me than you can know. But for now I feel I must apologize for disrupting your evening.” She drew the cloth close around herself. “And I should return to the Temple.”

“Oh...” Tanara looked at Leiard apologetically. “I’ll take you to the door.”

“Thank you.”

As the two women left, Leiard slowly sat down. Auraya is one of the White.

Bitterness overwhelmed him. He had seen the potential in her. She was intelligent but not arrogant. She was curious about other peoples, but not contemptuous of them. Her ability to learn and use Gifts was greater than any student he had taught.

Of course they had chosen her. He’d even told himself that it was better that she had joined the Circlians, because with the restrictions of a Dreamweaver life much of her potential would be wasted.

And how much better is it now that she is one of the immortal White? he asked himself bitterly. The world can benefit from her talents forevermore.

And her loss will torment you for all eternity.

The thought startled him. It sounded like his own mental voice, yet it felt like the mental voice of another person.

“Leiard?”

He looked up. Tanara had returned.

“Are you well?”

“A little surprised,” he said dryly.

Tanara moved to the opposite seat. The one Auraya had been sitting in. “You didn’t know?”

He shook his head. “It seems my little Auraya has come much further in the world than I thought.”

“Your little Auraya?”

“Yes. I knew her as a child. Taught her, too. She probably knows more about Dreamweaver healing than any priest or priestess.”

Tanara’s eyebrows rose. She looked away, her expression thoughtful. Then she shook her head. “I can barely comprehend this,” she said in a hushed voice. “You’re a friend of Auraya of the White.”

From behind them came a choking sound. Leiard turned to find Jayim standing on the staircase, his eyes wide in surprise at what he’d overheard.

“Jayim,” Tanara said, leaping up and pushing her son back inside. “You can’t tell anybody about this. Listen —”

Leiard rose and followed them down the stairs, going into his room. His dirty clothes still hung over the back of a chair. His bag was half empty, its contents spread over the bed. Sitting down, he swiftly stowed everything away again. As he placed the dirty robe in the top of his bag, he heard footsteps and turned to see Tanara stop in the doorway. She glanced at the bag and her expression hardened.

“I thought so,” she muttered. “Sit down, Leiard. I want to talk with you before you run off to your forest home.”

He lowered himself onto the bed reluctantly. She sat down next to him.

“Let me just check what I have heard. You said you taught Auraya when she was a child. You mean Dreamweaver lore?”

He nodded. “I had hoped she might join me.” He shook his head. “Well, you can see how that turned out.”

Tanara patted him on the shoulder. “It must have been frustrating. Strange that the gods would choose her, then. Surely they must know she was taught by a Dreamweaver.”

“Perhaps they knew where her heart truly lay,” he muttered bitterly.

Tanara ignored that. “It must have been odd talking to her again, even when you thought she was merely a high priestess. You sounded like you were getting along well enough when I arrived. Obviously you didn’t notice any change. You would have if this Choosing had turned her into someone different.”

“I know I said we were friends,” he replied. “But I said that to reassure you. Until today I hadn’t seen her in ten years.”

Tanara absorbed that silently.

“Consider this, Leiard,” she murmured after a while. “Auraya obviously wants to continue to be your friend. One of the White wanting to be friends with a Dreamweaver ought to be impossible, but it clearly isn’t. And if Auraya of the White is friends with a Dreamweaver, maybe other Circlians will treat Dreamweavers better.” Her voice lowered. “Now, you’ve got two choices. You can leave and return to your forest, or you can stay here with us and keep this friendship going.”

“It’s not that simple,” he argued. “There are risks. What if the other White disapprove?”

“I doubt they’d do anything more than tell you to leave.” She leaned closer. “I think that’s worth the risk.”

“And if the people decide they don’t like it? They might take matters into their own hands.”

“If she values your friendship she’ll stop them.”

“She might not be able to - especially if the White will not support her.”

Tanara leaned back to regard him. “I don’t deny there are risks. I only ask that you consider. You must do what your heart tells you.”

Standing up, she left the room, drawing the door shut behind her. Leiard closed his eyes and sighed.

Tanara is ignoring one simple fact; the gods would not have chosen anyone sympathetic to Dreamweavers, he told himself.

But they had chosen Auraya. Either she had developed a dislike of Dreamweavers, or they were playing a different game. He considered the possibilities. If they took an intelligent and Gifted woman who was sympathetic to Dreamweavers and caused her to turn against them, she might bring a new and fatal force to the Circlian hatred of heathens. She might be the one to destroy us completely.

And if he ran away and left her, alone and grieving, he might be the first to give her a reason to resent his people.

Curse the gods, he thought. I have to stay. At least until I know what’s going on.

4

The heat from the summer sun was stronger on the upper slopes of the mountains. As Tryss felt sweat beginning to run down his brow again, he straightened and shook his head. Droplets landed on the frame of the harness and were quickly absorbed by the dry wood. He pulled off his string-reed vest and laid it aside. Then, bending closer, he carefully stretched strips of flexible gut between the harness joints.

Much of the harness lay in pieces. He was trying to duplicate the lever system so he could carry four spikes instead of two. Already he was beginning to doubt that he could get off the ground while carrying something this