The Last of the Wilds

She examined the map closely, looking for anything familiar. Pictures of Siyee in an area covered in mountains caught her eye. She moved to the coastline. Si was a few days’ swim from Borra.

“Somewhere in the ocean south of Si,” she told him.

“South is that direction,” he said, indicating.

Looking at the vast area of blue, she felt her heart sink.

There weren’t any islands marked. How was she supposed to tell them where Borra was if it wasn’t on the map? But of course it isn’t on the map, she thought. If it was they wouldn’t have to ask me to find it!

“Have your people met the Siyee?” Imenja asked.

Imi looked up at the woman and nodded. “We trade with them.”

“Would they know where your home is?”

“Maybe. If they don’t, I could wait with them until the next visit by Elai traders. I... I don’t know how often they travel there.” Imi looked down at the map and felt a pang of longing. She had come so far, and now she was free to go home she wasn’t sure how to get there.

“Then that is what we shall do,” Imenja said.

Imi felt hope returning. “Will we?”

“Yes. We’ll get you home, Imi,” Nekaun assured her. “As soon as we can. Imenja says you’ll be recovered enough to leave in a few days.”

She looked up at him eagerly. “That soon?”

Nekaun smiled. “Yes. Imenja will take you on one of our ships. She will do everything she can to reunite you with your father and your people.”

Blinking back tears, Imi smiled at Imenja and Nekaun, overwhelmed by gratitude.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank you so much.”

The man’s breathing was painfully labored. Auraya sat back on her heels and let out a long breath. She had expected a stronger version of Hearteater, but not one this virulent. Every member of the tribe was or had been seriously ill. Some had overcome the worst of it, but only with help from Leiard.

Wilar, she corrected.

Now that she had recovered from her surprise at finding him in Si she had started to question his presence here. He could not have known about this plague before he entered Si. The Siyee had been sick no more than a week or two, and it would have taken him months to reach the village from outside Si. He must have been here already.

Why? I can understand him staying away from Jarime and Juran, but surely he didn’t need to change his name and appearance and live in one of the most remote places in Northern Ithania? Did he fear that our affair would become common gossip and people would try to harm him? Did he fear that I would seek to punish him for his infidelity?

She wanted to ask him so many questions, but that meant bringing up painful subjects. The answers ought to have been easy to learn. She should have been able to read his mind, but she couldn’t. His mind was shielded. She had never encountered anyone who could do that. Had he always known how to do it, or learned it recently? Could other Dreamweavers learn it from him? What if all Dreamweavers learned to hide their thoughts? An advantage the White had over them would be lost.

Remembering the hospice, she felt a pang of guilt Knowing that she was working toward disempowering Dreamweavers made it harder to face Leiard. It was another reason she had avoided him, sending messages via Ty ve then Reet.

She had been sending for Leiard more often than she wanted to. One of the medicines Leiard was using worked better at breaking up the mucus in the lungs of victims than any she had brought. A few hours earlier a patient, delirious with fever, had insisted on being treated only by “the dream man.” Now she must send for him again.

The patient before her, a middle-aged father, was sinking fast. His body’s struggles to fight the disease were pitiful. She expected him to die soon and it seemed prudent to reassure the Siyee that the healer agreed with her assessment. If a patient she was attending died, they might all decide they, too, only wanted to be treated by the Dreamweaver.

Hearing a thump behind her, she turned and looked out of the bower. Reet stood on the platform outside, coughing quietly. His attention was on Leiard, who was hanging from a sling looped around the thick ropes stretched between the platform and another somewhere to the right. The Dreamweaver was hauling himself along by grasping the thick rope and pulling. As he reached the platform, she saw that his hands were red and raw. His bag hung from a rope around his waist.

Reet helped him up onto the platform then out of the sling. Wasting no time, Leiard marched into the bower. His eyes met Auraya’s for a moment, but his grim expression did not change. He crouched beside her, placed a hand on the man’s forehead and closed his eyes.

Unbidden, a memory rose of the few times she had watched him sleeping. A forgotten longing crept over her and she gritted her teeth. It is just an echo of the desire I once felt. I don’t love him any more. She made herself think of the nights of pleasure Chaia had given her. Then she shook her head. That was too distracting, and she ought to be concentrating on her patient.

Looking down, she felt a thrill of surprise and hope. The man’s skin was still pale, but the blue tinge had gone from his lips and fingers. His labored breathing had changed to a slightly easier, deeper sound.

How is this possible? she thought. I gave him what strength magic can provide, but his body wasn’t fighting the disease. It had ravaged him. Leiard can’t be creating new flesh where it has been eaten away. He can’t be making the body fight the disease. He can’t be killing the disease itself...

Or could he? The Dreamweavers’ healing skills were greater than Circlians‘. Leiard had only taught her about cures when she was a child, not of the healing methods of Dreamweavers. Since then no opportunity had presented itself for her to observe a Dreamweaver treat a man as sick as this.

She felt a thrill of excitement. If Dreamweavers knew how to re-create damaged flesh, make a body fight a disease or kill the disease itself, her priests and priestesses could learn the skill from them. Circlian healers could save countless lives.

Maybe I shouldn’t be avoiding Leiard, she thought. Maybe I should be recruiting him... again. She grimaced at the thought. It is a pity I can’t read his thoughts, or I would know right now what he has done and I could continue avoiding him.

Leiard drew in a deep, slow breath and let it out. Removing his hand from the man’s brow, he stood up. From out of the shadows, where she had been waiting quietly, the man’s wife appeared. The woman had barely recovered from the disease herself. In her hands was a round, flat loaf of bread.

“Eat, Wilar,” she said to him. “Reet tells me he hasn’t seen you eat or rest once.”

Leiard looked at the woman, then glanced at Auraya. The woman followed his gaze.

“You too, lady, of course,” she added.

Auraya smiled. “Thank you.” She looked at Leiard critically. Dark shadows lay under his eyes. “He does look like he needs it.”

Leiard hesitated, then turned to Reet.

“Check on Veece,” he ordered. The boy nodded and flew away.

As the Dreamweaver sat down the woman broke the bread and handed pieces to them both. It was stale. No doubt she hadn’t had a chance to cook for days. Many of the Siyee would be running out of fresh supplies.

We must do something about that, Auraya thought.

“What can I do for him?” the woman asked, looking at her husband.

“Continue applying the essence,” Leiard told her.

“Will he live?”

“I have given him a second chance. If he does not improve, I might have to isolate him until the rest of the tribe are recovered.”

“Why?” Auraya asked.

He turned to regard her. “He will be in danger of catching it again.”