The Last of the Wilds

I don’t have to leave. I can stay and continue helping the Siyee. She won’t break a promise she made in the gods’ names.

Won’t she? I thought I was the overly trusting one.

You are. You wouldn’t have asked her to make the promise.

Because I know she would break a promise if the gods ordered her to.

A promise made in their names?

Who would know? There were no witnesses.

Auraya would know. They would lose her respect.

And you will still be dead.

Not unless I give them reason to kill me. So long as the Siyee are sick, I am safe. Once this plague has passed I will attempt to disappear again. And I have a chance of succeeding if Auraya is elsewhere.

Mud oozed up around Mirar’s feet at every step and it was growing deeper. The air stank of rot. He cursed Tyve under his breath. No doubt the boy had sent him into this ravine because it ran in the direction of the North Forest village or was otherwise easier going than the terrain around it. Unfortunately Tyve could not have seen past the dense vegetation to the boggy ground beneath.

Taking another step, Mirar felt his foot slip and grabbed a tree trunk to prevent himself sliding down into the mire. He found himself sitting in a shallow pool of mud.

He cursed again and clambered to his feet. Looking ahead, he saw an endless forest of thin trunks snaking out between tussocks of grass. The ground between glistened.

You have to go back, Leiard said.

Mirar sighed. The grass was floating on top of the mud, making the ground look more solid than it was. He looked down at himself. Mud caked his trousers and dripped from the lower edge of his Dreamweaver vest.

If Auraya could see me now... he thought.

... she’d have a good laugh at our expense, Leiard finished.

Yes. He found himself smiling. Shaking his head, he turned and started back the way he had come.

You like her, Leiard said.

I’ve never said I didn’t.

No, but this time you know it for yourself. You have come to that conclusion without my influence. You know these are your own feelings, not mine.

Mirar considered this and nodded.

Yes. I see what you mean.

The way forward became steeper. He thought of the slippery descent into the ravine and the trouble he’d probably have getting out, and groaned.

Auraya has probably already arrived at her destination, he thought wryly.

A memory rose of Auraya leaping off a platform, then speeding upward at an angle the Siyee would have found impossible to emulate. He had watched her until she had vanished behind the tree tops, wondering how it was that her ability could still amaze him.

You admire her, Leiard stated. That’s why.

Mirar shrugged. Yes.

It was not just the ease with which she used her unique gift, but the way she set out to do whatever she needed to do. Competent, but not vain about her skills. Efficient, but not without compassion.

She’s not unattractive, he added. But, of course, the White wouldn’t choose ugly people to be their representatives.

Yet her beauty wasn’t obvious. Some would say she was too sharp-featured.

People who prefer round, busty women, Leiard agreed.

She wasn’t all angles either. She had curves.

You noticed her curves, then? Leiard asked.

Yes. Mirar snorted. I’m a man; I notice curves. Are you jealous?

How can I be? I am you.

He felt a chill. Looking up, he made himself examine the steep slope of rock and plants before him. Everything was wet and slippery. He sought hand- and foot-holds and began to haul himself up.

If you’re me, then you don’t love Auraya, Mirar found himself thinking.

Ah, but I do.

He shook his head. So I do too?

Yes.

Climbing was like walking on hands and knees up a half-collapsed wall. Mirar shook his head in exasperation, both at having to climb it and at Leiard’s ridiculous conversation.

Why don’t I feel it, then?

You won’t let yourself. You’ve buried your feelings.

Oh, really? That’s a fine thing to claim. I could spend the rest of my life searching for feelings I don’t have, and you could keep using that explanation each time I fail to find them. Just look a little deeper, you’ll say. Just search a little harder.

But you haven’t searched for them, Leiard pointed out. You have the skill as a Dreamweaver to explore your subconscious, but you haven’t. You’re afraid of the consequences. What would it matter if I am right? You can’t pursue her anyway.

If you’re right it will only cause me pain. Why should I risk that?

Because you’ll never be rid of me until you do.

Mirar paused. He was close to the top now. I should be concentrating on climbing, he thought.

Instead he closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. He sent his mind into the dream trance, entering it slowly and reluctantly. He made himself think of Auraya. A stream of memories flowed into his mind. Auraya healing. Auraya flying. Auraya talking, debating, laughing. He saw the past, both distant and recent, even as he continued climbing. He remembered their conversations about peace between Dreamweavers and Circlians and felt respect for her. He recalled humorous moments when they had played with Mischief and he felt affection for her. He pictured her powerful and skilled and felt awe and pride. He saw her flying and... remembered a suspicion he’d once had about this ability. It almost distracted him from his purpose but he made himself push it aside. If he was to do this properly he must allow himself to relive only those moments of closeness they’d shared, like the experience of intimacy, of pleasure and exploration, of deeper feelings, a feeling of belonging, of not wanting to be anywhere else. Of connection. Of trust.

Of love.

He found himself standing at the top of the slope, gasping with exertion and a terrifying, exhilarating realization of the truth.

I understand. Emerahl was right and yet she was wrong, too. To become Leiard he hadn’t created new characteristics within himself. No, he had blocked those he felt were most identifiable to others. In doing so he had released others he had pushed aside for years. Leiard is me. I am Leiard. He is what I became when I suppressed those parts of my character that once held back feelings I thought were dangerous. Feelings like love.

Feelings he had learned to distrust. Love had only ever brought him - an immortal in a world of mortals - endless pain. By becoming Leiard, he had freed himself to love again.

I am Leiard. Leiard is me. He pressed his hands to his face. I love Auraya.

He laughed bitterly at the irony. Centuries ago he had built a hard wall around his heart to prevent himself falling in love with yet another mortal woman doomed to die. Now he had fallen in love with an immortal. An amazing, beautiful, intelligent sorceress with astonishing Gifts, who had once loved him in return.

“But she’s a cursed high priestess of the gods!” he shouted.

The sound of his voice jolted him out of the trance to a full awareness of his surroundings. He drew in a deep