exposed stretch of rock on the, side of a mountain.
“That is the Open,” Zeeriz explained. “Our main gathering and living place.”
She nodded to show her understanding.
Auraya sensed a little of his excitement and smiled. Even Juran, normally so serious, was thrilled by the prospect of seeing the home of the Siyee.
Not long after, a shadow passed over her. Looking up, she saw three Siyee flying above. They stared at her, fascinated. She flew closer to Zeeriz.
“Should I stop and greet them?”
“No,” he replied. “If you stop to greet every Siyee who comes to gawk at you, we won’t reach the Open until nightfall.” He looked up at the newcomers and grinned. “You’re going to attract quite a crowd.”
As they continued on, she occasionally glanced up to smile at the Siyee above. Soon more joined them, and then more, until she felt as if she was being followed by a great, flapping cloud. Drawing closer to the Open, she began to make out Siyee standing on the rocky ground - and they began to notice her. Some leapt into the air to investigate. Others simply remained on the steep slope, watching.
At the back of her mind, Auraya was conscious of her continuing link with Juran. One by one the other White joined that link, and she allowed them to view what she was seeing. The steep rock face that was the Open was like a giant scar on the side of the mountain. Longer than it was wide, it was surrounded by forest. The trees of that forest were enormous, and would no doubt be even more impressive viewed from the ground.
The rock face was uneven, broken into three levels. In the middle section a group of Siyee adults were standing in a line. These, she guessed, were the tribal leaders: the Speakers.
From below a pounding began, drawing her attention to several drums arranged on either side of the Open. Suddenly Siyee began darting in front of her. Seeing that they were wearing identical clothing and were all adolescents, she understood this aerobatic display was a show put on to impress her.
They dived and swooped back and forth, their movements synchronized. The patterns they formed were intricate, yet they managed to keep pace with her as she and Zeeriz descended toward the waiting Speakers.
The drums stopped and the fliers streaked away. Zeeriz swooped down to the ground. As he landed lightly before the Speakers, Auraya dropped down beside him. A woman stepped forward holding a wooden cup in one hand and what looked like a small cake in the other.
“I am Speaker Sirri,” the Siyee said.
“I am Auraya of the White.”
The Siyee offered Auraya the cup and the cake. The cup was full of clear, clean water. Zeeriz had told her of this ritual of welcome. Auraya ate the cake, which was sweet and dense, then drank the water. She handed the cup back to the Speaker. No thanks were to be offered, Zeeriz had told her. All Siyee of all tribes welcomed visitors with food and water, since no Siyee could carry much of their own. Even enemies must give and receive refreshment, but the silence prevented words of thanks sticking in anyone’s throat.
Sirri stepped back and spread her arms wide, exposing the membranes of her wings. This, Auraya read from the woman’s mind, was a welcome reserved only for those the Siyee trusted. The Siyee trusted the gods, so in turn they trusted the Gods’ Chosen.
“Welcome to Si, Auraya of the White.”
Auraya smiled and copied the gesture. “I am delighted to receive such a warm welcome from you and your people.”
Sirri’s expression softened. “It is an honor to receive one of the Gods’ Chosen.”
Auraya made the sign of the circle. “And it is an honor to be welcomed by the gods’ most wondrous and beautiful creation.”
Sirri’s eyes widened and her face flushed. Auraya noted the other Speakers exchanging glances. Had she said something wrong? She was not sensing offense from them. She read a mixture of thoughts, and slowly came to understand that, as a people, they wondered about their place in the world. Did their existence have a purpose? Or had their creation simply been a passing folly, an entertainment for the goddess who had made them? Her words had suggested that, perhaps, part of their purpose was simply to be an expression of beauty and wonder.
She would have to be careful here. These people could read meanings into her comments than she didn’t intend. She must be sure to explain that she knew no more than they when it came to the gods’ deeper purposes. After all, they hadn’t even spoken to her since the Choosing Ceremony.
“We have called a Gathering in order to discuss your proposed alliance,” Speaker Sirri told her. “Messengers have been sent to all tribes asking for their Speakers or representatives to come. It will take two or three days for everyone to arrive. In the meantime, we have arranged a small welcoming feast to take place tonight in the Speakers’ Bower, beginning at sunset.”
Auraya nodded. “I look forward to it.”
“There are many hours left before sunset. Would you like to rest, or see more of the Open?”
“I would love to see more of your home.”
Sirri smiled and gestured gracefully toward the trees on one side. “I would be honored to show you.”
As the water in the bowl stilled, Emerahl examined her reflection, tilting her head so she could see her scalp. Her natural, youthful hair color was just beginning to show, though only on close examination. It was a less vivid shade of red than the dye she had applied a few days ago, but she would be able to hide the change by using a weaker dye solution as it grew longer.
She straightened and considered herself. A young woman with dazzling green eyes, lightly speckled pale skin and hair the color of a sunset looked back at her. Her long tunic was a faded green that might once have matched her eyes, but the neckline was provocative - and would be more so once she put on some weight.
The small smile the girl in the mirror was wearing disappeared and was replaced by a frown.
Unfortunately, she had used up almost all her small income from her first customers by renting a room for a few nights. The price of accommodation had increased quite a bit in the last hundred or so years. As had other things. She hadn’t realized until it was too late why the fishermen hadn’t haggled too fiercely. She had assumed desire for her had made them malleable, when the truth was they had got themselves a bargain.
Clothes had been her first priority, however. Her price for lying with the fishermen had included a dirty old tawl she had spied in the cabin. It had covered her until she could buy herself the tunic and find a room. That night, after cleaning herself up, she had ventured out to replenish her purse.
Customers did not warm to her that evening and she made barely enough money to pay for food and another night’s rent. On the third night the man she brought back to her room stared at her white hair and treated her roughly. When he left, he all but reeked of vengeful satisfaction. She wondered if the woman he wanted to hurt knew how much he hated her.
She had skipped a meal so she could buy hair dye. The next night she had no trouble picking up customers. There weren’t many red-haired women working the streets of Porin. She was a novelty.
Emerahl ran a comb through her hair one more time, then turned toward the door. She silently cursed the priest who had chased her from her home, then straightened her back and left.
She did not have to travel far. Her accommodation was situated in an alley off Main Street, the main thoroughfare of the low-end of town. Anything could be bought or arranged here: whores, black-market goods, poison, a new identity, someone else’s possessions, someone else’s life. Competition was fierce among the whores and her presence had been quickly noted and challenged. As Emerahl took her place at the alley corner, she looked for now-familiar hostile faces. The dark-skinned twins standing just past the other corner of the alley had tried to
