The Last of the Wilds

a mind of its own. She bowed her head and stepped away. Her legs felt weak and shaky as she moved to stand with the other young Servant-novices.

“Today eight young men and women have chosen to dedicate their lives to the gods,” Imenja said, her voice calm. “Welcome them. Teach them. Help them realize their potential. They are our future.”

As she moved out of the center of the star, sounds began to fill the room. Servants stepped away from the wall, their sandals scraping and slapping on the floor. Some approached the new Servant-novices, who appeared to know them. The rest gathered into knots of discussion and voices echoed within the walls. To Reivan’s dismay, Imenja strode to the door and disappeared.

She did not know what to do next, and when nobody stepped forward to instruct her she stood still, watching the people around her. None looked at her. She was surprised to feel a pang of loneliness.

Seeing several Servants leave the room, she decided she could probably slip away, too. She began to wander in the direction of the exit, hoping it would not be considered rude of her to leave.

“Servant-novice Reivan.”

The voice was male and unfamiliar. Reivan turned to find a rather handsome Dedicated Servant approaching. He was Nekaun, one of the few whose name she had taken note of during the war. It is always easier to remember the names of good-looking people, she mused.

He smiled patiently as she respectfully made the sign of the star. “Welcome to the Sanctuary, Reivan,” he said. “I am Nekaun.”

She inclined her head. “Thank you, Dedicated Servant Nekaun.”

“You will make a good Servant.”

There was no hint of derision in his voice. She managed a smile, though she feared it looked more like a grimace.

“I hope so.”

A frown creased his forehead. “I’m guessing you feel you don’t fit in. Am I right?”

She gave a shrug. “I suppose so.”

“Don’t try too hard to do so,” he told her. “Imenja didn’t choose you because you’re like everyone else.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but couldn’t decide on the right words to say. Nekaun smiled. Her heart skipped a beat.

By the gods, he is even more good-looking close up, she thought. Suddenly she didn’t know what to say, but it didn’t matter, as he was now looking around the room.

“So much chatter. Do you know what they’re talking about?”

She shook her head automatically, then smiled as she realized she did know. “Who the next First Voice will be?”

He nodded. “They haven’t stopped gossiping since we got back. It’s only been a week and already I fear for my sanity.” He shook his head, but there was a gleam in his eyes that belied his pained expression.

“I expect you’ll all be trying hard to impress the rest of us in the next few weeks,” she said boldly. Then she felt her face flush. Am I flirting?

“Am I that transparent?” He chuckled. “Of course I am, but do not think the reason I approached you was solely to gain your favor. I do wish you well, and I will be watching your progress with interest.”

She felt herself relax a little at his frankness, though she was not sure why. “That’s just as well. Since I am only a Servant-novice, I will not be voting, and you could hardly be seeking to raise your popularity in the Sanctuary by welcoming me so openly.”

At once she regretted her words. Silly girl. If you keep telling him you’re unpopular he’ll decide you’re right and never talk to you again.

He laughed. “I think you underestimate your position here. Or you are overestimating the power of jealousy to sway a vote. Imenja favors you. When the Servants have finished sulking about that, they will remember who brought you here. When that happens, you will have a whole new range of problems to overcome.”

She could not hold back a bitter laugh. “Thanks for the reassuring words.”

His shoulders lifted. “Just a friendly warning. Now is not the time to be complacent, Reivan. If Imenja intends to make you her confidant and counsellor - which I suspect she does - you will need to learn more about the Sanctuary than just law and theology. You will...” His gaze flickered over her shoulder. “It was pleasant talking to you, Reivan. I hope I have the chance to again.”

“As do I,” she murmured. He walked away. Looking over her shoulder, Reivan saw another Dedicated Servant staring at Nekaun.

Interesting. I wonder what that was about? Is it one of the things he thinks I need to learn about in addition to law and theology?

To her surprise, the suggestion that internal conflicts existed within the Sanctuary had sparked her curiosity. She looked at the faces around her with new interest. It would help if she knew their names.

It is time I found out.

Mirar woke with the distinct feeling that it was too early to be waking up. Then he heard gasping and alarm chased away the last dregs of sleep. He sat up, opened his eyes and created a spark of light.

Emerahl was propped up on one elbow, a hand to her chest as she forced her breathing to slow. She gave him a pained, accusing look.

“The dream?” he asked.

She nodded, then sat up and swung her legs over the edge of her bed.

“You?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Are you sure I’m the one projecting them?”

“We woke up at the same time,” she pointed out.

“Probably because you woke me.”

She glared at him. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

He drummed his fingers against the frame of his bed. “I have no trouble controlling the dreams I’m aware I’m having. A forgotten dream is either extremely significant or completely insignificant.” He rested his elbows on his knees, then his chin on his fists. “If I was my own patient, I would dream link with him. I’d encourage him to reveal and confront the dream by nudging him into it, and if I had seen snatches of it previously, that would be even easier.”

“You want me to link with you?”

He looked at Emerahl. There had been the slightest hint of reluctance in her voice.

“Only if you are comfortable with it.”

“Of course I’m comfortable with it,” she said defensively. “You’ve rescued me often enough. It’s time I returned the favor.”

He smiled crookedly. “It is. Do you remember how to dream link?”

“Yes.” She pursed her lips. “I’m a little out of practice.”

“We’ll manage,” he assured her. He lay down again. “I’ll link with you in the dream state. Once the connection is made, show me a little of what you’ve been dreaming. Not all of it. Your memory of it should act as a trigger in mine to start the original dream. If it is mine.”

He closed his eyes. Emerahl’s bed creaked as she lay down. For a while she tossed and turned. At one point she muttered darkly about not being able to get to sleep now that he needed her to, then her breathing began to slow and deepen. He let himself sink into a dream trance.

The state of mind he sought hovered between unfettered dreaming and conscious control. In that state he was like a child playing with a toy boat in a stream. The boat was his mind and it went wherever the current took it, but he could only direct it with gentle nudges or by stirring the water, though he could simply pick the boat up if it ventured where he did not want it to go.

:Emerahl, he called. A long silence followed, then a groggy mind touched his.

:Mirar? Hmm, I am definitely out of practice. Shall I show you the dream? she asked.

:Take your time, he said. No need to hurry.

Instead of calming her, his words stirred a mixture of anxiety and agitation. Flashes of thought and images escaped her defense. He saw a scene that was unfamiliar in detail, but familiar in context. A sumptuous room.