Priestess of the White

unable to sense her emotions. She might have changed since becoming a White. This might all be a trap...

Auraya frowned. She had seen hints that he had an ability to sense emotions with his mind when they had met before, but this was the first time he had thought about it specifically, confirming that it was true. He had never mentioned this ability previously, not even when she was a child.

So he didn’t tell me everything back then, she thought. That isn’t surprising. The villagers would not have liked the idea he could sense something of their thoughts, even if only emotions. I wonder if other Dreamweavers have this ability, too.

All this flashed through her mind as he climbed into the pavilion. She smiled as he stopped a few steps below her, his eyes level with hers.

“Auraya,” he said. “Auraya the White. That is how I should address you, isn’t it?”

She shrugged. “Officially, yes. Privately you can call me whatever you feel comfortable with. Except dung- breath. I’d take exception to that.”

His eyebrows rose and his lips twitched into a smile. Seeing the pole men raise hands to cover their mirth, she turned and waved at them.

“Thank you. Could you return in an hour?”

They nodded, then made the two-handed gesture of the circle. Unwinding the ropes from the bollards, they stepped back onto the punt, picked up their poles and guided the craft downstream.

Auraya moved into the shade of the pavilion, conscious of Leiard as he followed her.

“How are you?” she asked.

“Well,” he replied. “And you?”

“The same. Better. I’m glad you changed your mind about leaving the city.”

He smiled. “As am I.”

“How are your hosts?”

“Well. Their son’s teacher died last winter and he found no replacement. I have taken on the task, for now.”

She felt a small pang of envy. Or was it simply longing for the past? Whatever the reason, she hoped the boy realized how lucky he was having Leiard for a teacher.

“I’d have thought it would be easier to find Dreamweaver teachers in the city than out of it,” she said. “Surely there are more here than you and this boy?”

Leiard shrugged. “Yes, but none were free to take on a student. We do not teach more than one at a time, and even those of us that like to teach need some time free from the constant demands of a student.”

Constant demands? Did this mean Leiard was going to be occupied for the next few years?

“So will this new student take up all of your time?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Not all.”

“Will he keep you in Jarime?”

“Not if I decide to leave. A student goes wherever his teacher does.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be thinking of visiting Somrey, would you?”

His eyebrows rose. “Why?”

She made her expression sober and her voice businesslike. “I have a proposal for you, Leiard. A serious proposal from a White to a Dreamweaver.”

She watched him react to the change in her manner. He leaned away from her and his expression became wary, but his mind was full of hope.

“Don’t feel you have to accept it,” she told him. “If what I propose doesn’t suit you, it might suit another Dreamweaver. If you don’t think any Dreamweaver would agree to what I’m proposing, please tell me. Either way, I’d appreciate your advice.”

He nodded.

“The White are seeking an alliance with Somrey,” she told him. As she explained the situation he said nothing, only listened and occasionally nodded to show that he understood. “Juran asked me to look over the terms of the alliance,” she continued, “and I realized I didn’t know as much about Dreamweavers as I thought. The questions I had...” She smiled. “I wished you were there to answer them for me. I realized that what we need is a Dreamweaver adviser. Someone to tell us which terms of the alliance are likely to cause offense. Someone to help us negotiate. Someone who might come to negotiate on behalf of Dreamweavers everywhere.” She paused and watched him closely. “Would you be our Dreamweaver adviser, Leiard? Will you come with me to Somrey?”

He regarded her silently. As he recovered from his surprise he began to consider her offer, debating with himself.

This is the opportunity Tanara thought might come. I can’t let it pass by. I will accept.

No! If you do this you will have to enter the White Tower. Juran will be there. The gods will be there!

I can’t let this opportunity pass out of fear.

You must. It is dangerous. Let her choose another. Find her another.

There is nobody better than myself for this position. I know her. She knows me.

She is a slave to the gods.

She is Auraya.

It was strange to be watching someone else’s internal struggle. Reason and hope were winning the fight against his fear, but she saw that the fear ran deep. What had caused this powerful terror of the gods? Had something happened to him to fill him with such dread? Or was this fear common among Dreamweavers? The stories she had heard of times when the Dreamweavers had been brutally persecuted were enough to make anyone’s skin prickle with horror.

He would have to fight this fear every time he entered the Temple. Suddenly she knew she could not ask this of him. She would have to find another Dreamweaver. She could not ask a friend to face this terror.

“It doesn’t have to be you,” she told him. “You may be too busy training this boy, anyway. Can you recommend another Dreamweaver?”

“I...” He paused and shook his head. “Once again, you have surprised me, Auraya,” he said quietly. “I thought, at first, that you only wanted advice on this alliance. Your offer is too great a thing to decide without spending some time in consideration.”

She nodded. “Of course. Think about it. Let me know in... well, I’m not sure how long I can give you. A week. Maybe more. I’ll let you—”

They both jumped as something dropped onto her shoulder.

“Tweet!” a shrill voice trilled in her ear.

“Mischief!” she gasped, holding a hand to her pounding heart. “That was not polite!”

“Tweeeeeet!” the veez demanded. He leapt off her shoulder onto Leiard’s. To Auraya’s relief, Leiard was smiling broadly.

“Come here,” he said, slipping his fingers around the veez’s body. Mischief gave a mew of protest as Leiard lifted him down and turned him onto his back. As the Dreamweaver began scratching his belly, the veez relaxed and closed his eyes. Soon he was lying, limp, in one of Leiard’s hands, his little fingers twitching.

“That’s pathetic,” she exclaimed.

He grinned and held the veez out to her. For a moment his gaze met hers over the creature. She felt a strange delight at the sparkle that had come into his eyes. She had rarely seen him look so... playful.

Suddenly she remembered something her mother had said, years before. That the women in the village were worried she fancied Leiard. That he was not as old as he appeared.

I can see why they were worried. I thought he was ancient, but then I was a child and only saw the white hair and long beard. He can’t be older than forty, and if he shaved and cut his hair I think he’d be quite good-looking, in a weathered sort of way.

The veez roused himself from his trance and lifted his head.

“More scratch?”