The Last of the Wilds

:Interesting. I like the idea of non-meddling gods, but if the result is mortals making decisions like that...

:Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind and think we’re better off with gods than without.

:No. Never. But mortals can make astoundingly stupid and cruel decisions, too.

:Even your own followers? she asked.

:Of course not. Dreamweavers are always unfailingly sensible.

:Ha!

:Well, most of them.

:Have you contacted Dreamweaver Elder Arleejl

:Yes, he said. She’s making the arrangements you suggested.

:How did she take the news about you?

:She was surprised.

:I’m sure she was more than just surprised. The Twins told me something you’ll find interesting and maybe even useful in the future. There are more voids in the world. Most are of no use to anyone, but there are a few in remote locations that might be good places for you to hide.

:Do they know what caused them?

:No. Only that a great magical event must have happened to drain that much magic from one place in the world. They had never heard of them before the War of the Gods.

:That certainly qualifies as a great magical event, Mirar remarked.

:Yes. I’d always thought it strange that a war between such beings has never affected the physical world. All that changed for mortals was that gods no longer appeared, or they lost Gifts their gods had bestowed upon them.

:I wonder if the voids are dangerous to the gods. They are beings of pure magic, after all.

:Only if they blundered into one, I suppose.

:Yes. I wonder if we could arrange that.

Emerahl’s amusement came to him in a gentle wave of humor.

:It’s gone quiet, she said suddenly.

Mirar paused and listened. It took a moment for the meaning of the silence to occur to him. The sound of wind had stopped. Either his subconscious had finally blocked it, or the storm had ended.

:I had best wake up and be civil to my hosts, Emerahl told him. Happy travelling, Mirar.

:Thanks, he replied, thinking of the treacherous snow and rugged mountains he still had to cross.

Her mind faded from his senses. He drew in a deep breath and pulled himself into full consciousness. To his relief the wind had stopped screaming. Opening his eyes he saw only darkness, so he drew magic and created a spark of light. His relief changed to dismay.

The entire mouth of the enormous cave he had been sheltering in was completely blocked by a wall of snow.

That was why he couldn’t hear the wind any more.

47

A day after the Elai had sunk the raider ship, Imenja ordered her vessel to moor near a collection of little islets. Though more rock than anything else, those just beneath the waves were covered in bulfish. The islets were too far from Borra for the Elai to be relying on them for food, and too dangerous for anyone without magic to approach. Imenja had ventured out with a few daring crewmembers every day to collect bulfish, and they had feasted on the delicacy for two days.

All except Reivan. Unfortunately, she was the only person on board who didn’t like these bulfish. Some of the crew even preferred to eat them raw. Just the thought of that turned her stomach. The ship’s cook, however, had taken Reivan’s dislike as a personal challenge. Each night he prepared them in a different way, trying to find one that might win her over. Under Imenja’s watchful eye she had tasted them seared, roasted, in soups, and even mashed into a paste, but the strong, pungent, fishy taste left her gagging.

She longed for the ship to move on, but culinary pleasure wasn’t the only reason Imenja was dallying in this place. The Second Voice had to give the Elai warriors time to return to their city, give the king their news, and for a messenger to return - if the king decided to send one.

“I think I’m growing to like this life on the sea,” Imenja said. “Maybe I should put aside ruling the world and become a trader.”

Reivan turned to regard Imenja. “I suppose it wouldn’t be a great change for you. You’d still get to boss others around and negotiate with peoples of many nations. I think I prefer the simple comforts of the Sanctuary, though.”

“There’s much more room there,” Imenja agreed.

“And there’s no... oh, no. Here we go again.”

She had spotted the cook approaching the pavilion. He held a wooden board covered by an upturned dish.

Imenja chuckled. “He only seeks to please you.”

“Are you sure he’s not trying to make me ill?”

The cook entered the pavilion. He traced the star over his chest quickly, then lifted the dish off the wooden board with a flourish. Reivan sighed.

A shallow stone bowl lay on the board, filled with bulfish. Their shells had been removed and they steamed invitingly. A delicious smell of herbs reached Reivan’s nose, but it did nothing to boost her confidence.

The cook held out a fork.

“Try.”

Reivan shook her head.

“Just try it, Reivan,” Imenja said, in the tone of someone who would not be refused.

Sighing, Reivan took the fork and skewered one of the slimy-looking fish. She regarded it fatalistically, then forced herself to put it in her mouth.

The sickeningly pungent flavor she expected to assault her senses did not come. Instead, a mild flavor mixed with the pleasantness of the herbs filled her mouth. Surprised, she chewed cautiously, sure that doing so would release the flavor she disliked. It didn’t, and she swallowed almost reluctantly.

The cook was grinning. “You like it.”

She nodded. “It’s better. Much better.”

“Really?” Imenja took the fork from Reivan’s hands, then plucked a morsel off the board. She popped it into her mouth and chewed, and her eyes widened. “It is. It’s subtle and delicate. You steamed it?”

The cook nodded.

“Remember what you did,” she told him. “I wonder if we can get bulfish shipped home to—”

Her expression changed suddenly. With furrowed brows she waved the cook away, rose and stepped out of the pavilion. Reivan followed as her mistress moved to the ship’s rail and stared out at the sea.

“I think we are about to receive a visit from the sea folk,” she murmured. “Yes. There.”

She pointed. The water was all black shadows and the red light of the reflected sunset. Staring out at the waves, Reivan saw a head-sized object moving up and down with the waves. After a moment it disappeared. She sought another sign of the Elai, but in vain.

“Throw over a rope,” Imenja ordered a crewman nearby. He hurried to obey. As the rope unfurled, Reivan peered over the rail.