ground, so to speak.”
Auraya concentrated on the sense of the world around her and her position in relation to it. Drawing magic, she moved herself upward, increasing her speed until the wall of the Tower rushed past. In the windows she glimpsed faces. The Siyee did not notice her approach until she was almost upon them. Startled, they swooped away.
Slowing to a stop, she held herself suspended in the air and watched as they began to circle her at a distance. From this close she could see that all she’d been told of the Siyee was wrong. Except what Leiard had told her, she corrected herself.
They looked like children. It was not just their small size though, but that their heads seemed large in proportion to their bodies. Their chests were broad but their arms were wiry and muscular. Their wings were not feathered or attached to their backs, as legend told. Their arms were their wings: the bones of their fingers were elongated and formed the framework for a translucent membrane that stretched from fingertip to torso.
The armholes of the vests they wore extended to their hips to allow room for their wings. Slim-fitting trousers made of the same rough cloth as their vests covered their lower halves, and thin straps bound the cloth close to their legs.
As the two circled closer, she noted finer details. The last three fingers of each hand formed the wings, leaving the forefinger and thumb free. She found herself unable to decide if they were beautiful or ugly. Their angular, large-eyed faces were exquisitely fine, but their thinness and featherless wings did not live up to the depictions of them in scrolls and paintings. Yet they circled her with an easy grace that she found fascinating.
“Welcome to Jarime, ambassadors of Siyee,” she called. “I am Auraya of the White.”
The Siyee whistled to each other, adding a spoken, high-pitched word here and there. Reading their minds, she saw that this was their method of speech.
“She must be one of the Gods’ Chosen,” one of the Siyee said.
“Must be,” the other replied. “How else could she be standing on air?”
“Nothing in their message told of their ability to... to...”
“Defy the pull of the earth?” the other suggested.
She concentrated on their thoughts, finding in them the words she needed. Mimicking their speech was more difficult, but as she repeated her greeting they circled closer.
“I am Tireel of the Green Lake tribe,” one of the Siyee said. “My companion is Zeeriz of the Fork River tribe. We have flown long and far to speak to the Gods’ Chosen.”
“We have been sent by our Speakers to discuss the alliance you have proposed,” the other added.
Auraya nodded and searched their minds for words.
“The other Gods’ Chosen wait below. Will you come down and meet them?”
The two Siyee exchanged glances, then nodded. As she descended, they followed, still circling. She understood that they could not stop in midair as she could. They relied on this continual gliding to keep them aloft. She noted the subtle shifts in their posture as they compensated for changes in the wind. When she neared the ground they swooped away toward a clear area of pavement to land. She followed.
As her feet touched the ground, Juran, Rian and Dyara came forward. The Siyee eyed the crowd of priests and priestesses nervously.
“Do not fear,” Auraya told them. “They are just surprised to see you. They will not harm you.”
The Siyees’ attention shifted to the other White. Tireel stepped forward.
“We have come to discuss alliance,” he said simply.
“You have flown far,” Juran replied, his voice softening as he spoke their strange language. “Would you like to rest and eat first? We have rooms in the Tower for guests.” The two Siyee looked up at the building dubiously. “Or if that is unsuitable a cloth house could be made in the gardens,” Juran added.
The Siyee exchanged a few soft whistles, then Tireel nodded. “We will accept your rooms in the Tower,” he replied.
Juran nodded in reply. “Then I shall escort you inside and see to your comfort. If it is acceptable to you, we will meet to discuss the alliance tomorrow.”
“That is acceptable.”
As Juran ushered them toward the Tower, Auraya realized Dyara was watching her.
“Well, that was nicely arranged.”
Auraya frowned. “How so?”
“You gain the ability to fly a few days before the sky people arrive.”
“And you think that was my doing?”
“Not at all,” Dyara smiled. “The gods are rarely coy about their intentions. That’s where we have the advantage over these Pentadrians. We don’t have to invent mysterious signs or complicated deceptions to convince our people of their existence.”
The bare stone slopes of the Open were bathed in orange light. As the sun set, fires were lit at the center of the clearing in a circular pattern. Snatches of song, beating of drums and the constant whistling calls of the Siyee filled the air.
All these effects combined to create an atmosphere of anticipation and festivity. Tryss felt a twinge of excitement as he surveyed the scene. Siyee of all ages were dressed in their finest. Bright colors and patterns had been painted on sun-bronzed skin. Jewelry adorned both men and women. Every face was strange and wondrous, for all were wearing masks.
As Tryss landed beside his father, he gazed around in admiration. As always, the variety and workmanship of the masks was amazing. There were animal masks, insect masks and flower masks; masks adorned with patterns and masks covered in symbols. He gasped as he saw one carefully carved to represent a Siyee with wings outstretched, smiled at a man whose head had been “replaced” by a large hand, then laughed aloud at a woman whose mask was an enormous ear.
Girls hurried past, giggling, their masks made entirely of feathers. An old man hobbled in the other direction, his gray hair streaming out from beneath a worn representation of a fish head. Two small boys narrowly missed Tryss’s legs as they hurtled past, one face hidden by a sun, the other half-covered by a crescent moon.
As Tryss followed his father to their usual place in the great circle, he put a hand up to straighten his own mask. It seemed bland and foolish next to some that he had seen - simply a repainted autumn-leaf design from a trei-trei festival a few years before. He’d had no time to make a new one, with all his spare time dedicated to practicing using his new harness and blowpipes.
Drilli was pleased with his progress, though he still missed his targets as often as he hit them. She had assured him that people didn’t expect archers to hit their target every time, so they wouldn’t expect him to either. He wasn’t so sure. When the time came to demonstrate his invention, he needed to dazzle and impress. He needed to prove that this method was
He sighed. Tonight he wanted to forget all that. The summer trei-trei, held late in the season, was the last festive Gathering before the long winter began; a last opportunity for feasting and wasting energy in acrobatic flying.
And this year he had a partner.
As Tryss’s parents took their places among their tribe, two voices rose above the general chatter.
“... seen it before, haven’t you?”
“Yes. Three years ago, I think. A bit of fresh paint doesn’t make an old mask look good again, does it? And an autumn leaf in summer! Can’t even get the season right.”
Tryss decided it would be better to pretend he hadn’t heard the voices, but his mother looked in their direction.
“You’re not getting along with your cousins anymore, are you?”
She sounded concerned. Tryss shrugged.
