Priestess of the White

“Who knows what the goddess intended?” Tryss said dryly. “Maybe she’s realized making us was a mistake, and this is a way to get rid of us.”

“Tryss!” Drilli said, shocked. “You shouldn’t speak of the goddess so.”

He smiled. “Perhaps not. But if she is watching, she will have heard me thinking that. And if she can hear me thinking that, then she can see that I don’t believe what I said.”

“Why say it then?”

“Because the possibility occurred to me, and I need to speak of it in order to realize I don’t believe it.”

Drilli stared at him, then shook her head. “You are a strange boy, Tryss.” She nodded at the harness. “Are you taking that to the Gathering tonight?”

“This? No. They’d laugh at me.”

“They might not.”

“I’ve shown people before. They think it’ll be impossible to fly with it, or that it will make flying clumsy and dangerous, and even if I prove them wrong they won’t believe it’s possible to hunt with one. And at the moment I’m not sure it’s going to work anyway. Two spikes don’t seem like enough. I’ve been trying to change it so it carries more, but... but... it’s complicated.”

“It looks it. But I’d give it a try. I wonder... could you make something that would allow me to use the blowpipe while flying?”

He looked at the pipe in her hands, then at the harness. She’d need some sort of frame to hold the pipe steady and a way to reload it with missiles. She could suck the missiles into the pipe from out of a bag. And the missiles were much smaller and lighter than spikes, so she could carry more... He sucked in a breath. But that was brilliant! As possibilities rushed through him, he felt his hands beginning to shake with excitement.

“Drilli,” he said.

“Mmm?”

“Can I... can I borrow that pipe?”

Auraya watched, fascinated, as her new pet chased an imaginary spider up the wall. He was a veez - a small, slim creature with a pointy nose, fluffy prehensile tail and large eyes that gave him excellent night vision. His soft toes splayed out across the painted surface, somehow allowing him to cling effortlessly to the wall - and now the ceiling. Stopping just above her, he suddenly dropped onto her shoulder.

“No fug,” he said, then leapt onto a chair and curled up with his speckled gray fluffy tail across his nose.

“No bug,” Auraya agreed. The animal’s most remarkable trait was the ability to speak, though he talked only of the matters that concerned a small creature, like food and comfort. She doubted she’d have any enlightening philosophical discussions with him.

A knocking came from the door. “Come in,” she called.

Dyara stepped inside. “Auraya. How are you this morning?”

“Owaya,” a small voice repeated. Dyara’s gaze shifted to the veez. “Ah, I see the Somreyan Council of Elders have delivered their customary gift for a new White.”

Auraya nodded. “Yes. Along with an amazingly elaborate array of toys and instructions.”

“Have you named him yet?”

“No.”

The older woman moved to the chair and extended a finger toward the veez. He sniffed, then cocked his head to one side and allowed Dyara to scratch behind his tiny pointed ears.

“Once you’ve learned to link your mind with his you’ll find him useful. Just show him a mental picture of an object and he’ll fetch it for you. He can find people, too, though it’s easier if you give him something they’ve touched to catch a scent from.”

“The instructions said they make good scouts.”

Dyara smiled. “Scouts being the polite term for spies. When you link with his mind you’ll be able to see what he sees - and since their night vision is excellent and they can get into places humans can’t, they do make good, ahem, scouts.” The veez’s eyes were closed in bliss at her scratching. “But you’ll find you’ll appreciate them as much for their nature. They’re affectionate and loyal.” She stopped scratching and straightened. The veez’s eyes opened wide and he stared up at her intently.

“Scatch?”

She ignored him and turned to Auraya. “We’ll be—”

“Scatch!”

“Enough,” she told him firmly. He ducked his head like a chastised child. “They can also be a bit demanding at this age. Just be firm with him.” She moved away from the chair, then looked at Auraya sidelong, her expression unreadable. Not for the first time, Auraya wished she could read the other woman’s mind as easily as she could now read most people’s.

“You said last night that you had visited an old friend in the afternoon,” Dyara said. “There are more than a few ‘scouts’ in the city who are anxious to prove themselves and gain work from me, who take it upon themselves to report what they see. This morning one of them claims that this friend you visited is a Dreamweaver. Is this true?”

Auraya regarded Dyara carefully. What should she say? But she would not lie to one of the White. Nor would she pretend to feel guilty for visiting her old friend.

“Yes,” she replied. “He is Dreamweaver Leiard, from my home village. I haven’t seen him in ten years. He brought the message of my mother’s death to the Temple. I wanted to thank him for that.”

“I gather he will be returning to his home again now that the message is delivered.”

“Probably.” Auraya shrugged. “I doubt he’ll stay here long. I can’t imagine city life would suit him. He has always been a solitary type.”

Dyara nodded. “The others will be at the Altar by now. We should not keep them waiting.”

Auraya felt her stomach flutter with both anxiety and excitement. For the first time she would sit with the other four White as they discussed their duties and responsibilities. They might give her a task to perform. If they did, she expected it would be a minor responsibility. Even if they didn’t, it would be interesting to hear what worldly matters they were involved in.

Dyara’s circ flared as she turned on her heel and strode to the door. Auraya followed. The cage was waiting for them. As they descended Auraya considered the ‘scouts’ Dyara had spoken of. She was disturbed by the news that strangers were watching her, but wondered if they truly had done so voluntarily. What was worse: that they had spied on her out of their own initiative, or that someone had asked them to?

Are my fellow White keeping an eye on me? If I arrange to meet Leiard again, will they try to discourage me? Should I let them? As the cage settled at the bottom of the stairwell, Auraya followed Dyara out. The gods chose me. They knew everything about me, including my friendship with Leiard and sympathy for Dreamweavers. If they hadn’t approved, they would have chosen someone else.

Or would they? Perhaps they tolerated that one aspect of her character in order to make use of others. However, until they told her not to, she would continue associating with Dreamweavers.

She shivered. When the news of her mother’s death had arrived she had feared the gods were making a point - that they were making it clear they disapproved of her use of a Dreamweaver’s services by killing her mother.

Ridiculous, she thought. The gods don’t work that way. When they want something, they tell you. Despite knowing this, she hadn’t been able to shake the fear until Leiard had assured her that her mother’s illness had been the cause of her death.

The air outside the Tower was warm and the sun’s heat promised a hot day to come. Dyara’s pace quickened. They reached the Dome, entered it and strode toward the dais and Altar at the center.

The other three White were waiting for them, seated at a circular table. Auraya felt her pulse racing as she drew closer, and memories of the Choosing Ceremony flashed through her mind. She followed Dyara onto the Altar.

“Welcome, Auraya,” Juran said warmly.

She smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Juran.”