Priestess of the White

“It appears these men are trying to stop the proposed alliance between Dunway and Hania,” Qurin told them.

Avorim nodded. “As you know, the White have been trying to form an alliance with the Dunwayans for years. They’re having some success now that suspicious old I-Orm has died and his sensible son, I-Portak, is ruler.”

“So why are they here?” someone asked.

“To prevent the alliance. They told me to contact the White to communicate their demands. I did, and I... I spoke to Juran himself.”

Auraya heard a few indrawn breaths. It was rare for priests to speak telepathically to one of the Gods’ Chosen, the four leaders of the Circlians known as the White. Two spots of red had appeared on Avorim’s cheeks.

“What did he say?” the village baker asked.

Avorim hesitated. “He is concerned for us and will do what he can.”

“Which is what?”

“He didn’t say. He will probably speak to I-Portak first.”

Several questions followed. Avorim raised his voice. “The Dunwayans do not want a war with Hania - they made that clear to us. After all, to defy the White is to defy the gods themselves. I don’t know how long we will be here. We must be prepared to wait for several days.”

As questions turned to matters of practicality, Auraya noticed that Leiard wore a frown of worry and doubt. What is he afraid of? Does he doubt that the White can save us?

Auraya dreamed. She was walking down a long corridor lined with scrolls and tablets. Though they looked interesting, she ignored them; somehow she knew that none of them contained what she needed. Something was urging her forward. She arrived in a small circular room. On a dais in the center was a large scroll. It uncurled and she looked down at the text.

Waking, she sat bolt upright, her heart pounding. The Temple was quiet but for the sounds of the villagers sleeping. Searching the room she found Leiard asleep in a far corner.

Had he sent her the dream? If he had, he was breaking a law punishable by death.

Does that matter, if we’re all going to die anyway?

Auraya drew her tawl back up around herself and considered her dream and why she was now so certain the village was doomed. On the scroll had been one paragraph:

“Leven-ark” means “honor-leaver” in Dunwayan. It describes a warrior who has cast aside all honor and obligations in order to be able to fight for an idealistic or moral cause.

It hadn’t made sense to Auraya that a Dunwayan warrior would dishonor his clan by taking unarmed villagers hostage or killing defenseless people. Now she understood. These Dunwayans no longer cared for honor. They could do anything, including slaughter the villagers.

The White were powerfully Gifted and could easily defeat the Dunwayans in a fight, but during that fight the Dunwayans might kill the villagers before the White overcame them. However, if the White gave in to the Dunwayans’ demands others might copy them. Many more Hanians could be imprisoned and threatened.

The White won’t give in, she thought. They’d rather some or all of us were killed than encourage others to take villages hostage. Auraya shook her head. Why did Leiard send me this dream? Surely he wouldn’t torment me with the truth if there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

She considered the information in the scroll again. “Leven-ark.” “Cast aside all honor.” How can we turn that to our advantage?

For the rest of the night she lay awake, thinking. It was only when the dawn light began to filter softly into the room that the answer came to her.

After several days, tempers were thin and the stale air was heavy with unpleasant odors. When Priest Avorim wasn’t settling disputes among the villagers he was bolstering their courage. Each day he gave several sermons. Today he had told of the dark times before the War of the Gods, when chaos ruled the world.

“Priest Avorim?” a young boy asked as the story ended.

“Yes?”

“Why don’t the gods kill the Dunwayans?”

Avorim smiled. “The gods are beings of pure magic. To affect the world they must work through humans. That is why we have the White. They are the gods’ hands, eyes and voices.”

“Why don’t they give you the power to kill the Dunwayans?”

“Because there are better ways to solve problems than killing. The Dunwayans...” The priest’s voice faded to silence. His eyes fixed on a distant point, then he smiled.

“Mairae of the White has arrived,” he announced.

Auraya’s stomach fluttered. One of the White is here, in Oralyn! Her excitement died as the door to the Temple opened. Bal stepped inside, flanked by several warriors and his sorcerer, Sen.

“Priest Avorim. Qurin. Come.”

Avorim and Qurin hurried out. Sen did not follow. The radiating lines on his face were distorted by a frown. He pointed at the blacksmith’s father, Ralam.

“You. Come.”

The old man rose and staggered toward the sorcerer, hampered by a leg that had been broken and badly set years before.

The sacrifice, Auraya thought. Her heart began to race as she moved forward. Her plan relied on the Dunwayans being reluctant to break their customs, despite their intentions. She stepped in front of Ralam.

“By the edicts of Lore,” she said, facing Sen, “I claim the right to take this man’s place.”

The sorcerer blinked in surprise. He glanced aside at the warriors guarding the door and spoke in Dunwayan, gesturing dismissively at her.

“I know you understood me,” she said, striding forward to stand a pace from the sorcerer. “As did your warrior brothers. I claim the right to take the place of this man.”

Her heart was hammering now. Voices called out to Auraya, telling her to come back. The old man tugged at her arm.

“It’s all right, girl. I will go.”

“No,” she said. She made herself meet Sen’s eyes. “Will you take me?”

Sen’s eyes narrowed. “You choose freely?”

“Yes.”

“Come with me.”

Someone among the audience shrieked her name and she winced as she realized it was her mother. Resisting the urge to look back, she followed the Dunwayans out of the Temple.

Once outside, Auraya felt her courage weakening. She could see Dunwayan warriors gathered in a half-circle around the gap in the village wall. Late-afternoon light set their spears glittering. There was no sign of Qurin or Priest Avorim. Bal stepped out of the half-circle of warriors. Seeing Auraya, he scowled and said something in his own language.

“She offered herself in exchange,” Sen replied in Hanian.

“Why didn’t you refuse?”

“She knew the ritual words. I was honor-bound to—”

Bal’s eyes narrowed. “We are the Leven-ark. We have abandoned all honor. Take—”

A warning was shouted. All turned to see a priestess standing in the gap in the wall.

The priestess was beautiful. Her gold-blonde hair was arranged in an elaborate style. Large blue eyes