Priestess of the White

“I don’t know.”

“What do you want from your life, then?”

“I don’t know.”

“Of course you do. Do you want love? Children? Wealth? What about fame? Or power? Or both? Or do you want wisdom and knowledge more? What are you willing to work toward, Jayim? And what would you forsake in pursuit of it?”

“I don’t know,” Jayim gasped despairingly. He moved into an alley. It was narrow, forcing Leiard to walk behind the boy. The sour smell of rotting vegetables filled the dark, close space.

“Of course you don’t. You’re young. It takes time for anyone to...”

A feeling of threat swept over Leiard. He caught hold of Jayim’s shoulder.

“What?” the boy said tersely.

A wheezing exhalation echoed in the alley, then spluttered into a laugh. Two more voices joined in this merriment. As three shapes appeared in the gloom, Jayim cursed quietly.

“Where are you going this time of night, Dreamer?”

The voice was young and male. Leiard let these strangers’ emotions flow over him. He felt a mix of predatory intention and cruel anticipation.

“He’s got a friend,” a second voice warned.

“A friend?” the first boy scoffed, though his thoughts were immediately tempered by caution. “Dreamers don’t have friends. They have lookouts. Someone to watch in case a person happens upon them while they’re seducing other people’s wives and daughters. Well, that’s too bad for you, Dreamer. We got here first. You’re not going anywhere near Loiri.”

Seducing wives and daughters... An image flashed through Leiard’s mind. He faced two men, both angry, both holding weapons. In a window above, a woman appeared. Though her face was in shadow he knew she was beautiful. She shouted angrily, but not at him. Her curses were directed at the men below.

“I’m not here to see Loiri, Kinnen,” Jayim said between gritted teeth. “I’m here to see Vin.”

Leiard shook his head as the image faded. Another link memory? He could not remember ever being so intent on seduction. Something like that would surely stick in one’s memory. But then link memories also did that.

“Vin ought to know better,” a third voice said, “than to associate with Dreamweavers. What’s in the bag, Jayim?”

“Nothing.”

Jayim’s voice was steady, but Leiard could feel his fear increase abruptly. As the three bullies drew closer, Leiard channelled a little magic into his palm. Light blossomed between his fingers, setting his hand aglow. He stepped past Jayim and uncurled his hand.

The light filled the alley. To Leiard’s dismay, three Circlian priests stood before him.

No, he corrected himself. Initiates. They’re not wearing rings.

They stared at the light, blinking rapidly, then their eyes shifted to his face. Leiard regarded them impassively.

“I am unsure what your intention is by meeting us here in this manner. Jayim has informed you of the identity of our host and assured you that we are welcome. If that is not enough to satisfy you, then perhaps you should accompany us to our destination. Or...” he paused, then lowered his voice “... did you meet us here in order to acquire our services?”

The boys exchanged alarmed looks at the suggestion.

“If you have,” Leiard continued, “and the matter is not urgent, we can arrange to visit you tomorrow. Would you prefer we came to the Temple or your homes?”

At that, the three boys began to back away.

“No,” the first said stiffly. “That’s fine. We’re fine. No need to visit.”

After several steps they turned and swaggered off, making a show of indifference. Jayim let out a long, quiet sigh.

“Thanks.”

Leiard regarded the boy soberly. “Does this happen often?”

“Now and then. Not for a while, actually, but I think they’ve been busy with all the visitors who came to the Choosing Ceremony.”

“Probably,” Leiard agreed.

“You frightened them off, though,” Jayim said, grinning.

“I bluffed them. It will not work again. They will remember that the law is against anyone using our services. You need to learn to protect yourself.”

“I know, but...”

“Your doubts have prevented you seeking a new teacher.”

“Yes.” Jayim shrugged. “I have Dreamweavers like you, who come to stay with us. They all teach me things.”

“You know that is not enough.”

The boy bowed his head. “I think becoming a Dreamweaver was a mistake. I wanted to be someone.” He looked down the alley. “Like them, but not a priest. They would have made my life terrible. And... and Father kept pushing me to be a scribe, like him, but I wasn’t any good at it.” He sighed. “Becoming a Dreamweaver only made things worse with Kinnen’s lot. And my parents.” He gave a bitter laugh. “They were so eager to show they’d accept whatever choice I made that they turned our home into a safehouse.” He sighed. “So I can’t stop now.”

“Of course you can,” Leiard told him.

Jayim shook his head. “Kinnen’s lot will think I gave in. And my parents will be disappointed.”

“Which is not reason enough for you to be allowed to continue wearing the vest.”

Jayim frowned, then his eyes widened. “You’re... you’re here to kick me out!”

Leiard smiled and shook his head. “No. But I see much about you that concerns me. By our laws, if three Dreamweavers of each of the three ages agree that another must be cast out, it can and must be done.” He let his voice soften. “You are full of doubts, Jayim. That is reasonable in a boy of your age, in your situation. We will give you time to consider. But you cannot neglect your training while you consider, and you have taken no steps to acquire a teacher.”

Jayim stared at the light in Leiard’s hand. “I see,” he said quietly.

Leiard paused, then put aside the last shreds of his fading need for solitude. “If you decide to remain with us, Jayim, and you wish it, I will take up your training. I cannot promise that you will always remain in Jarime, so you must be prepared to leave your parents and accompany me into an uncertain future. But I will promise that I can make a Dreamweaver of you.”

The boy’s gaze shifted to Leiard’s, then he looked away, his thoughts in turmoil.

Leiard chuckled. “Think about it. Now we had best visit this sick friend of yours.”

Jayim nodded, and pointed along the alley. “We go in the back way. Follow me.”

Flying over the Open, Tryss felt a shiver of excitement. A great half-circle of lights had formed near the center where a sheet of rock known as the Flat provided space for many Siyee to stand together. The leaders of every tribe - the Speakers - stood above this, along the edge of a low natural wall of rock. The air was thick with Siyee arriving for the Gathering.

As his father began to descend, Tryss followed. His mother was a presence not far behind. They joined the Siyee circling down and, once their feet were on the ground, quickly moved out of the way to allow others room to land. As they joined their tribe, Tryss looked for Drilli’s. They stood close by. Drilli caught his eye and winked. He grinned in reply.

There were fifteen tribes of Siyee this year. One less than the last. The West Forest tribe had been butchered by landwalkers last summer. The few surviving members, unable to return to their territory, had joined other tribes. Drilli’s people, the Snake River tribe, had been driven from their village, but enough members had