The Last of the Wilds

“Si is the closest of our allies to the southern continent. It has no priests or priestesses and the few Siyee who are Gifted have had little training. They are our weakest ally.”

Danjin looked thoughtful, then nodded. “It’s not like Jarime can’t spare a few priests and priestesses. Whatever intrepid young fellows you send to Si ought to be good healers too. You want the Siyee to continue feeling grateful to you. In twenty years only the older Siyee will remember that you forced King Berro to remove the Toren settlers from their land. The younger Siyee will not understand the value of that act - or they’ll convince themselves that they could have done it without you. They may even be convincing themselves of that now.”

She shook her head. “Not yet.”

“They might be. People can convince themselves of anything, when they want someone to blame.”

She winced. Someone to blame. A few people had been driven by grief to blame the White, even the gods, for the death of their loved ones during the war. Being able to sense the grief of these and more rational people was another disadvantage of her ability to read minds. Sometimes it seemed every man, woman or child in the city was grieving over a lost relative or friend.

Then there were the survivors. She was not the only one tormented by unwelcome memories of the war. Every man and woman who had fought had seen terrible things, and not all of them could forget. Auraya shuddered as she thought of the nightmares she’d endured since the battle. In these dreams she walked a battlefield without end and the mutilated corpses of men and women pleaded to her for help, or shouted accusations.

We must do everything we can to avoid another war, she thought. Or find a better way to defend ourselves. We White have great magical strength. Surely we can find a way to fight that doesn’t cause so many deaths.

Even if they did find one, it might be of no use if the enemy’s gods were real. She thought back to a morning a few days before the battle, on which she had witnessed the Pentadrian army emerging from the mines. Their leader had called up a glowing figure. She would have dismissed it as an illusion, except that her senses had told her this figure was overflowing with magical power.

Circlians had always believed the Pentadrians followed false gods. That the Circle of Five were the only true gods who had survived the War of the Gods. If she had seen a real god, then how could this be?

The White had questioned the gods after the battle. Chaia had told them it was possible that new gods had risen since the War. He and his fellow gods were investigating.

She had discussed and debated the possibilities with her fellow White many times since then. Rian was reluctant to accept that new gods had come into existence. Normally fervent and confident, he was upset, even angered, by the prospect of new gods. She was beginning to understand that he needed the gods to be an unchangeable force in the world. A force he could rely on to always be the same.

Mairae, in contrast, was unconcerned. The idea that there were new gods in the world did not bother her. “We serve our five, that’s all that matters,” she had said once.

Juran and Dyara were not convinced that the “god” Auraya had seen was real. Yet they were more concerned than Mairae. As Juran had pointed out, real gods were a great threat to Northern Ithania. He had assumed that the Pentadrians had claimed that their false gods had ordered them to war in order to gain the obedience of their people. Now it was possible that these gods were real and had encouraged - perhaps even ordered - the Pentadrians to invade Circlian lands.

They had all agreed that if one Pentadrian god existed, then the rest probably did too. No god would allow his followers to serve false gods in tandem with himself.

Auraya frowned. I’m convinced what I saw was a real god, so I must believe there are five new gods in this world. But surely that’s...

“Auraya?”

She jumped and looked up at Danjin. “Yes?”

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

She grimaced apologetically. “No. Sorry.”

He smiled and shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize to me. Anything that can distract you so thoroughly must be important.”

“Yes, but it is nothing that hasn’t distracted me a thousand times before. What were you saying?”

Danjin smiled and patiently began repeating what he had been telling her.

Emerahl sat very still.

From all around her came the sounds of the forest at night: rustling leaves, the chatter and whistling of birds, the creak of branches... and from somewhere not too far away, the faint sound of pattering feet.

She tensed as the sound came closer. A shadow moved in the starlight.

What is it? Something edible, I hope. Come closer, little creature...

It was downwind of her, but that should not matter. She had a magical barrier around her, keeping her odors to herself.

And there are plenty of those, she thought ruefully. After a month of travelling, with no change of clothes, anyone would smell bad. How Rozea would laugh to see me now. Her whorehouse favorite covered in muck, sleeping on the hard ground, her only companion a mad Dreamweaver.

She thought of Mirar, sitting by the fire several hundred paces behind her. He was probably muttering to himself, arguing with the other identity in his head.

Then the creature moved into sight and all thought of Mirar fled her mind.

A breem! she thought. A tasty, fat little breem!

A shot of stunning magic killed it instantly. She rose, picked up the little creature and began preparing it for cooking. Skinning, gutting and finding a good roasting stick took up all her attention. When it was ready, she started back to the campfire, stomach rumbling in anticipation.

Mirar was just as she had pictured him. He stared at the fire, lips moving, unaware of her approach. She chose her steps carefully, hoping to hear a little of what he was saying before he noticed her and fell silent.

“... really matter if she forgives you or not. You cannot see her again.”

“It matters. It might matter to our people.”

“Perhaps. But what will you say? That you weren’t yourself that night?”

“It is the truth.”

“She won’t believe you. She knew I existed within you, but never saw enough to understand what that meant. I stayed quiet while you two were together. Do you think I was doing it out of good manners?”

He fell silent.

“She,” eh? Emerahl thought. Who is “she”? Someone he has wronged, if this talk of forgiveness is a clue. Was this woman the source of all his troubles, or just some of them? She smiled. Typical Mirar.

She waited, but he did not speak again. Her stomach growled. He looked up and she started forward as if just arriving.

“A successful hunt,” she told him, holding up the breem.

“Hardly fair on the wildlife,” he said. “Pitted against a great sorceress.”

She shrugged. “No less fair than if I had a bow and was a good shot. What have you been doing?”

“Thinking how nice it would be if there were no gods.” He sighed wistfully. “What’s the point of being a powerful immortal sorcerer when you can’t do anything useful for fear of attracting their attention?”

She set about propping the breem over the fire. “What useful acts do you want to do that would attract their attention?”

He shrugged. “Just... whatever was useful at the time.”

“Useful to whom?”

“Other people,” he said with a touch of indignation. “Like... like unblocking a road after a landslide. Like healing.”

“Nothing for yourself?”

He sniffed. “Occasionally. I might need to protect myself.”

Emerahl smiled. “You might.” Satisfied that the breem was set in place, she sat back on her heels. “There will always be gods, Mirar. We just managed to get on their bad side of late.”