The Last of the Wilds

she mused. The voice held no malice, but plenty of irony. She still could not judge where it had come from.

“If we could have, we would have,” the man replied. “Please forgive us, Emerahl. We had to be sure you were who you said you were?”

Emerahl rose and stepped out of the boat. “I’d have preferred a riddle.”

The man laughed again. “Would you? I find them annoying and pretentious.”

She looked around. “I don’t even know who you are, though I have a few ideas. How am I to test you?”

“Come through the other cave,” a woman replied.

Emerahl moved to the entrance and paused.

“Don’t worry. We do not have any more tests for you.”

Even so, Emerahl kept her barrier strong as she stepped into the room beyond. It was empty. An irregular stairway led upward. She climbed slowly.

She emerged in the center of a large cavern. The floor was uneven, and there were holes here and there. On some of the higher levels cushions had been arranged, woven in bright colors. Alcoves had been carved into the walls, holding a variety of homely objects including reed baskets, pottery bowls and wooden statues. There was even a vase of flowers.

“Welcome, Emerahl. Or do you prefer The Hag?” a woman said from behind her.

Emerahl turned. A man and a woman sat within two alcoves on the back wall, both pale-haired, handsome and simply dressed. They were so alike they had to be related, confirming her suspicions about their identity.

“You are The Twins,” she said.

The man grinned broadly, while the woman’s smile was dignified and almost shy. The sides of their faces wrinkled, drawing Emerahl’s attention to scars that ran down their faces, necks and shoulders.

Scars? If they are immortals, they should not have scars.

Then she noticed that the scars, on the woman’s left side, matched those of the man’s, on his right side, and a wave of realization swept over Emerahl. These two had once been joined. The scars were deliberate, perhaps a reminder of their former union.

“We are,” the woman replied. “I am Tamun.”

“And I am Surim.”

“Sun and Moon,” Emerahl translated. “In ancient Velian.”

“Yes. Our parents thought it might bring luck.”

“Did it?”

The pair exchanged a glance, then Surim shrugged. “We grew to be unexpectedly Gifted. Some consider that lucky.”

“Somewhat,” Tamun agreed, smiling faintly. She looked at Emerahl and grew serious. “Are we forgiven for our little test? There are some tests only an immortal can pass, and we needed to be sure.”

Emerahl spread her hands. “I guess I might have done the same, if I feared deception.”

Tamun nodded. “We have heard reports of you from time to time over the centuries. Despite our rude welcome, we have been looking forward to meeting you.”

“And I you,” Emerahl replied. “It is odd that we should have lived so long, yet never encountered each other before.”

Surim shrugged. “It is not wise to flaunt one’s immortality, especially in this age. If we immortals all have one common trait, it is keeping to ourselves.”

Emerahl nodded. “And yet I have felt compelled to seek other immortals.”

“Paradoxically, it is the increased threat to our lives in this age that motivates us to seek our own company,” Tamun said.

“And support,” Surim added.

“So you, too, have sought out other Wilds?” Emerahl asked.

Tamun’s nose wrinkled. “Wilds. That is what the gods call us. We called ourselves immortals before, and so we should now.”

“Yes,” Surim said in answer to Emerald’s question. “We have.” He rose and walked to Emerahl. Taking her hands, he smiled warmly and gazed into her eyes. “We’ve been isolated from the world too long. We crave company.”

“For the last hundred years we have watched the world through the minds of mortals, but that is not as satisfying as walking among them,” Tamun agreed, standing up and stretching.

“Come sit down,” Surim said, drawing Emerahl across the room. He led her to a pile of cushions. Tamun settled down next to Emerahl. She drew a small loom close to her and began weaving, her fingers moving with the sure deftness of someone who had been practicing a skill for a long time.

“I always wondered what it was that you two did,” Emerahl told him. “The reports I heard suggested you were prophets. Like The Seer.”

Surim laughed.

“We never claimed to be able to see or predict the future,” Tamun said. “Not as The Seer did. She couldn’t, you know. She just used her mind-reading skills to learn what a person wanted to hear, then gave them ambiguous answers.”

“She wrote the most appalling poetry and called it prophecy,” Surim added, gesturing dismissively. “All this nonsense about lost heirs and magical swords. We all know swords can’t be magical.”

“Unless they’re made of the wood of a welcome tree,” Tamun pointed out. “Or black coral.”

“Which makes them utterly useless as a physical weapon.” Surim looked at Emerahl and smiled. “Ignore us, dear. We have been arguing like this for most of a millennia. Now, tell us about yourself, and the world. The Gull keeps us informed, but he hears only rumors and gossip. You have seen recent events with your own eyes.”

Sitting down, Emerahl chuckled to herself. “No doubt The Gull told you. I have seen a few things. And not of my choosing.”

And she began to relate how a priest had driven her from her lighthouse over a year before.

Auraya paced the bower.

For the last few weeks she had flown about Si to all the villages suffering from Hearteater. In each place she had ordered three bowers to be built, as Mirar had done at the Blue Lake tribe. She had taught Siyee in each village how to prepare cures and how to judge when a patient probably needed magical help in overcoming the disease. Now, whenever she visited a village, she could attend to those who needed her most before flying on to the next village.

But Juran had contacted her this morning to tell her the gods would be delivering their judgment later that day at the Altar. It had forced her to remain in her bower for hours, knowing that sick Siyee needed her help and at the same time giving her nothing to distract herself with. Suddenly she realized she was wringing her hands, as her mother used to do when anxious. She threw her hands apart and sighed in exasperation.

Oh! Enough waiting! I wish the gods would announce their decision and be done with it!

Her stomach fluttered as she paced the room. She remembered Chaia’s words: Know that you have made an enemy of one of the gods. One of the gods. Not two. Of all the gods, she had given Huan and Chaia most reason to dislike her. Was disobeying Huan likely to make her an enemy? Probably. Was spurning Chaia’s love likely to? Possibly.

She had considered the revelation that the gods did not agree about her fate many times. What side had each god taken? Chaia had hinted that Huan was the most angered by her refusal. What did the other gods think?

Auraya?

Her stomach clenched as she recognized Juran’s mental voice.

:Juran? Is it time?

:Yes. Mairae and I are at the Altar.

She nodded, forgetting that he could not see her, and moved to a chair. As she sat down Mischief scrambled out of his basket and climbed down the wall of the bower. He curled up in her lap. Now that the weather was growing chilly he was constantly taking advantage of any warm body that remained still for more than a few moments.