The Last of the Wilds

Running his hands through his hair, he was pleased to find none of the stickiness of the dye was left. He didn’t relish the thought of ducking into the cold water again. The prospect of it had discouraged him from reapplying the color for several days.

“Don’t forget your eyebrows,” Emerahl had said. “If people see pale eyebrows and dark hair, they’ll know you’ve been using dye.” He smiled at the memory as he carefully washed the remaining dye away with water cupped in his hands. She hadn’t said anything about dying the hair on his chest, or anywhere else, but who would see it anyway? Nobody, while Leiard had any say in it.

A piece of cloth was ail he had to dry himself with. He started back into the cave, rubbing at his skin to warm it.

“Wilar?”

He stopped and turned back to the fall. The voice was familiar. A Siyee was silhouetted in the entrance.

“Reel?”

“It is Tyve.”

The brother, Mirar thought. They sound so alike. “Give me a moment,” he called.

He hurried into the cave, quickly finished dressing, then returned to the fall with his bag of cures. A young Siyee male was waiting at the gap between the edge of the fall and the rock wall. He grinned as Mirar appeared.

“Have we come at a bad time?”

“No,” Mirar assured him. “Your company is always welcome.”

The Siyee hid a smile. Their language had come back to Mirar quickly, but he did not always understand the words or phrases they used. He suspected he used an old-fashioned way of speaking that they found amusing, and that the puzzling phrases and words they used were recent inventions of the last century or so.

He’d met the pair some weeks ago, giving them the explanation he and Emerahl had come up with: he had agreed to meet her here and she had communicated the way to the cave via dream links, but when he arrived she had already left.

They understood what a Dreamweaver was. He was pleased to learn that the Siyee still remembered Mirar through stories in which he was a benevolent healer and wise man. To his amusement, they assumed all Dreamweavers were male and magically powerful.

He and Tyve walked out from behind the fall and down to the edge of the pool, where another young Siyee was waiting.

“Greetings, Wilar. I brought you some food,” Reet said, holding up a small bag.

“Thank you,” Mirar replied. He lifted his bag. “Have you come for more cures?”

“Yes. Sizzi says your remedy worked. She wants some more. Speaker Veece’s joints are paining him now that it’s getting colder. Do you have anything that would help?”

Mirar smiled. “He didn’t tell you to ask, did he? You’re asking for his sake.”

Reet grinned. “He’s too proud to ask for help, but not so proud he doesn’t complain about it all the time.”

Sitting down on a rock, Mirar opened his bag and considered the contents. “I’ll have to make something up. I have the wound powder and pain ease here.” He drew out a carved wooden jar and a small bag of pellets. “The pain ease is in the bag. Use no more than four a day, and never more than two at once.”

Reet took the bag and jar and stowed them in a pouch strapped to his chest. Mirar picked up the bag of food. It was surprisingly heavy, and he heard the faint sound of liquid sloshing inside.

“Is there... ah!” He drew out a skin of Teepi.

“A gift from Sizzi,” Tyve explained.

Mirar regarded the two Siyee. “Are you in a hurry to return?”

They shook their heads and grinned. Unplugging the skin, Mirar took a sip of the liqueur. A tart, nutty flavor filled his mouth. He swallowed, savoring the warmth that filled his stomach and began to spread to his limbs. He handed the skin to Tyve.

“Any news?” he asked.

Tyve drank and handed the skin to Reet. “Priests have reached the Open. They’re going to teach the Siyee who want to become priests and priestesses.”

Mirar sighed. The Siyee had been free from all but Huan’s influence for centuries, and the goddess hadn’t meddled in their lives much since she had finished creating them. Once the Siyee had priests and priestesses they would be encouraged to worship all five gods, some of which were more inclined to mess about with people’s lives.

“You don’t look pleased to hear it,” Reet observed.

Mirar looked at the young man, then shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I... I don’t like the thought of the Siyee being ruled by the gods, and their landwalker servants.”

Tyve frowned. “You mink that is what will happen?”

“Maybe.”

“Is this a bad thing?” Reet asked, shrugging. “The gods can protect us.”

“You were safer when you were apart from the rest of the world.”

“The world invaded us,” Reet reminded him.

“Ah, you’re right. The Toren settlers did, in their fashion. I guess you could not have remained separate or safe forever.”

“You do not worship the gods?” Tyve asked.

Mirar took the skin from Reet and put it aside. He shook his head. “No. Dreamweavers do not serve gods. They help people. The gods... don’t like that.”

“Why not?”

“They like to be worshipped, to control all mortals. They don’t like that Dreamweavers don’t worship or obey them. When we help others, they think we reduce their influence on those we help.”

Tyve frowned. “Do they punish you for it?”

Memories of crushing stone and a crippled body crept close. Mirar pushed them away. “They ordered Juran of the White to kill our leader. At their urging, Circlians turned against Dreamweavers. Many were killed. Though this does not happen now, those few of my people who brave the life of a Dreamweaver are scorned and persecuted by Circlians everywhere.”

The two Siyee regarded Mirar in dismay. “The Circlians are our allies,” Tyve said. There was neither defensiveness nor alarm in his voice. “If you’re an enemy of the Circlians, then are you our enemy, too?”

“That is up to your people to decide,” Mirar said, looking away. “Most likely this alliance will do your people much good. I would not sow doubts in your minds.”

Liar, Leiard accused, his voice a whisper in the back of Mirar’s mind.

“Why don’t you worship the gods?” Reet asked.

“For several reasons,” Mirar told him. “Partly it is because we feel we should have a choice in the matter. Partly it is because we know the gods are not as good and benign as they would like mortals to believe they are.” Mirar shook his head. “I could tell you of the exploits of the gods in the past, before their war reduced them to five, that would make your skin turn cold.”

Just exploits of the five remaining gods, in their bad old days? Leiard asked.

No, Mirar replied. That would be too obvious. I’ll mix them with stories of other gods.

“Tell us,” Tyve said seriously. “We should know, if we are going to be ruled by them.”

“You might not like what you hear,” Mirar warned.

“That depends whether we believe you or not. Old tales are usually just exaggerations of the truth,” Reet said wisely.

“These are not stories. They are memories,” Mirar corrected. “We Dreamweavers pass on our memories to our students and each other. What I tell you is not an exaggeration or embellishment, but true recollections of people long dead.”

Or not so dead, Leiard added.