The Last of the Wilds

Beautiful women. Not so good-looking men in fine clothing appraising the women.

At the same time he sensed her desire to hide something from him, lest he be disappointed in her. He had seen enough to comprehend what that was, and felt a flash of anger. She’d done it again. She’d sold her body to men. Why did she do this to herself?

Then the familiar presence of another stirred in the back of his mind.

She is a whore? Leiard’s surprise at this news was tainted with disapproval.

She has been, from time to time, Mirar replied defensively. Always out of necessity.

And you... you have rescued her from that life before.

Yes.

Mirar realized he had drawn away from Emerahl’s mind. He had left the dream-trance state and was fully awake. From the other bed he heard a sigh, then the sound of the bed creaking.

“Mirar?” Emerahl murmured.

Drawing in a deep breath, he sat up and created a light. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her shoulders drooping. Looking up, she met his eyes then looked away.

“You did it again,” he said.

“I had to.” She sighed. “I was being hunted. By priests.”

“So you became a whore? Of all things, you had to choose such a demeaning...” He shook his head. “With your ability to change your age, why resort to that? Why not change into an old crone? Nobody would look twice at you? It’s got to be easier to hide as an old woman than a beautiful—”

“They were looking for a crone,” she told him. “An old woman healer. I couldn’t sell cures. I had to earn money somehow.”

“Then why not be a child? Nobody would suspect a child of being a sorceress, and people would feel compelled to help you.”

She spread her hands. “The change wastes me. You know that. If I’d gone back so far I’d have been too weak to fend for myself. The city was full of desperate children. I needed to be someone the priests wouldn’t want to look at too closely. Someone whose mind they wouldn’t attempt to read.”

“Read?” Mirar frowned. “Priests can’t read minds. Only the White can.”

She looked up at him and shook her head. “You’re wrong. Some can. One of the children I befriended overheard a conversation between priests about the one hunting me. They said he could, and that he was looking for a woman whose mind was shielded. The child wasn’t lying.”

Mirar felt his anger waver. If the gods could give the skill to the White, why not to a priest hunting a sorceress? He sighed. That did not make what she had done any less infuriating.

“So you became young and beautiful. A fine way to avoid drawing attention to yourself.”

She looked up at him and he saw her pupils enlarge with anger. “Are you suggesting I did it out of vanity? Or do you think I’m greedy, that I could not get enough of fine dresses and gold?”

He met and held her eyes. “No,” he said. “I think you could have avoided that life if you’d truly wanted to. Did you even try anything else?”

She did not answer. Her expression told him she hadn’t.

“No,” he said. “It is as if you are drawn to it, though you know it is harmful. I worry about you, Emerahl. I worry that you nurse some unhealthy need to hurt yourself. As if... as if you are punishing yourself out of... out of self-loathing, perhaps.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How dare you. You tell me it’s harmful and disapprove of me resorting to it again, but you have never hesitated to buy a whore’s services. I heard you once boast that you were such a regular customer at a particular whorehouse in Aime that they let you have every third night free.”

Mirar straightened. “I am not like their regular customers,” he told her. “I am... considerate.”

“And that makes it different?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Other men are not so considerate. They can be brutal.”

“And I can defend myself.”

“I know, but...”

“But what?”

He spread his hands. “You’re my friend. I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

“I don’t find it as miserable an existence as you think I do,” she told him. “It’s not the most enjoyable profession a woman can take - though some women do find it suits them well - but it’s also not the worst. Would you rather I’d sat in the gutter, begging, or worked in some sewer or dump all day for a scrap of bread?”

“Yes,” he said, shrugging.

She leaned forward. “I wonder what Leiard thinks.” She looked into his eyes searchingly. “What do you think, Leiard?”

He had no time to protest. By addressing Leiard, she freed the other mind. Mirar found he had no control of his body; he could only observe.

“I think Mirar is a hypocrite,” Leiard said calmly.

Emerahl smiled with satisfaction. “Really?”

“Yes. He has contradicted himself many times. He told me months ago that he did not want to exist, but now it appears he does.”

She stared at him. “He did?”

“Yes. You believe that he is the real person, and I am not. So now he does too.”

Her gaze wavered. “I’m prepared to accept that the opposite may be true, Leiard, but you must prove it.”

“And if I can’t? Would you sacrifice me in order to keep your friend?”

It was a long time before she replied. “Would you like it better that way?”

Leiard looked down at the floor. “I am of two minds.” He smiled briefly at the unintended joke. “It might benefit others if I no longer existed, but I find I do not like the former leader of my own people. I am not sure if it would be wise to inflict the world with his existence again.”

Her eyebrows rose, then she surprised both Mirar and Leiard by bursting into laughter.

“Looks like I’m not the only person here who hates themself! Are you casting your own shadows on me, Mirar?”

Mirar gasped with relief as control returned. Emerahl gave him an odd look.

“You’re back?”

“Indeed.”

“Saying your names does it. Addressing one or the other. Interesting.” She looked up. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

He shrugged. “You didn’t address Leiard often. That left me in control most of the time.”

“How am I supposed to help you if you aren’t telling me everything?”

“I prefer being in control.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Enough to destroy another person’s mind?”

He did not answer. He had given her enough reasons to distrust him already tonight. She would not believe his answer, and he was not sure he’d believe it either.

“I’m going back to sleep,” she announced. “And I don’t want to be interrupted.”

Lying down, she rolled over. Her back seemed to admonish him.

“Emerahl.”

She did not reply.

“Priests can’t read minds. They can communicate via their rings, but no more. You may have encountered an unusually Gifted priest, or the gods may have given him the skill, but once you were away from him you had no reason to—”

“Go to sleep, Mirar.”

He shrugged, lay down and hoped she’d have forgiven him by the morning.