Voice of the Gods

“How so?”

“From the gods, you silly girl. You defied them. You are too powerful. The only reason they didn’t kill you when you resigned was because you were still useful to them. Now that the Siyee are well they’ll be looking for any excuse to get rid of you.”

Auraya thought of the conversation between the gods that she’d overheard after she’d announced her intention to resign.

:Give her what she wants, Saru had said. Then we can get rid of her.

:Only if she turns against us, Chaia had replied.

“Any excuse?” she said, standing up. “Like learning to hide my thoughts from them. Like associating with yet another Wild.” She stepped around Jade and started toward the cave entrance. “Tell Mirar the best he can do to protect me is stay away and stop meddling in my affairs.”

She heard Jade’s footsteps behind her.

“Mirar is a besotted fool. That’s why he taught you to heal, even though he knew you would eventually work out that it is the same Gift that makes us immortal. He gave you an escape route.”

Auraya caught her breath and slowed to a stop. If what Jade was telling her was true, Mirar had deliberately taught her something that could lead to her becoming immortal. No wonder the gods had forbidden Circlians to learn magical healing. Yet the gods had let her learn it...

“He saw the potential in you - and so did the gods,” Jade continued. “Why do you think they gave you such impossible choices? They know your weaknesses. They manipulated you neatly into leaving the White, leaving their followers believing you sacrificed all for the Siyee. Now you can tragically die and nobody will question it.”

Auraya turned to stare at the woman. She shook her head. “You’re lying.” She must be lying.

Jade laughed. “If only I was. Can you take that risk?”

Chaia’s face rose in Auraya’s memory. Even if Jade was right, she was only partly right. Not all of the gods want me dead.

If she refused Jade’s help she risked that Huan and her allies would kill her, despite Chaia’s opposition.

If she accepted she risked losing Chaia’s support - if she still had it.

Auraya turned away. As she started toward the cave entrance again she expected Jade to follow. Instead the woman called after her.

“You’re a Wild, Auraya. The gods know it. They’re just waiting for the right moment to kill you.”

“I’m not immortal yet,” Auraya tossed over her shoulder. She sensed she was approaching the void and drew magic to maintain her barrier. “I don’t have to become immortal, even if I have the potential to.”

“You don’t have to hide your thoughts either. But if you know how, then if Mirar’s concerns prove valid you may find the Gift useful.”

Auraya slowed and stopped within the void, turned, then stepped back inside the barrier. Jade regarded her soberly.

If there is no crime in having knowledge that can lead to immortality, then there is no crime in knowing how to hide my thoughts, she thought. And if Mirar returns because I refused to learn from Jade, it will cause all manner of trouble.

“How long will it take?” she asked.

Jade’s expression softened. “A few weeks. Less, if you’re a fast learner.”

“The Siyee will come looking for me.”

“We’ll tell them you’re staying only until you’re sure I’m well.”

“Ah, yes. The mythical illness.” Auraya strode toward the woman. “Expect to heal quickly, Jade Dancer, as I don’t intend to be here any longer than necessary.”

The woman snorted. “I assure you, neither do I.”

No matter how many times Reivan rode in a litter, she could never get used to the movement, especially when the carriers were jogging. Or was it the fact that the four slaves had her dignity and well being in their hands which made her uneasy? Like all slaves they were criminals, but these had been chosen for this task by the Servants of the Gods for their reliability, coordination and willing cooperation.

But whoever chose them probably assumed any Servant riding a litter has Skills to call upon if they ever need to defend themselves, or the slaves dropped the litter. She didn’t even have enough Skill to stir up the still, hot air to cool herself. Usually one could only become a Servant if one had Skills, but she had been an exception. Being ordained as a Servant of the Gods had been Reivan’s reward for saving the Pentadrian army from becoming lost in the mines of Sennon... was it really less than a year ago?

She sighed and tried not to look at the sweat running down the backs of the slaves. The signs of their discomfort only made her more uncomfortable. And these black Servant robes don’t help, she added, plucking at the neckline.

The slaves turned onto the Parade and wound their way through the crowd toward the Sanctuary. The sprawl of buildings that made up the main Pentadrian Temple looked like a giant staircase. Imenja had ordered Reivan to return as quickly as possible, and the thought of ascending up through most of the Sanctuary to reach her wasn’t a welcoming one.

At the wide stairs of the building, the slaves set the litter down. Reivan paused to nod in thanks to the slave master, then started her journey upward.

A wide, arched facade welcomed visitors to the largest Pentadrian building in all Ithania. Stepping through one of the openings, she entered a large, breezy hall. Servants hovered around, ready to greet visitors. Beyond the hall there was a courtyard, which she skirted so she could stay in the cool shadows.

A wide corridor followed, taking her through the Lower Sanctuary. Servants were everywhere, their black robes like ink stains against the white walls. The corridor split several times as it branched out into the Middle Sanctuary. As she hurried along the route to the Upper Sanctuary, Servants stepped out of her way and nodded politely.

Their respect roused a smug satisfaction within her. They’ve been like this since Imenja and I returned from negotiating the agreement with the Elai. There had been no protest when Imenja had made Reivan her Companion. Even so, I can’t help looking for signs that the Servants’ acceptance of me is wearing off.

The corridors in the Upper Sanctuary were wide and quiet. The walls were decorated with artworks, and mosaics covered the floors. Doors led to private courtyards, where fountains kept the air cool. She now had a suite of rooms decorated in the same austere but luxurious fashion the Voices enjoyed.

I suppose if you’re going to spend eternity serving the gods you may as well be comfortable while doing so, she mused. I may not be immortal, or need a suite of rooms all to myself, but I appreciate them as much for being an acknowledgment of all the work I do as for their comforts.

:Are you far away? a familiar voice spoke into Reivan’s mind.

It might have been Reivan’s imagination, but Imenja’s mental call seemed strained with anxiety. Reivan frowned.

:No. I’ve two corridors to go, she replied.

Now concern added to her discomfort. Small incidents and hints had led Reivan to suspect her mistress and Nekaun, the First Voice, had grown to dislike each other. She had noticed that Imenja frequently disagreed with Nekaun, and that the First Voice often overrode Imenja’s decisions. Both did so while using the politest of language.

There were subtler signs, too. Whenever in the same room, Imenja never faced Nekaun directly. She often crossed her arms or leaned slightly away from him. He smiled at her frequently, but his eyes always expressed some other emotion than good humor. Sometimes anger; sometimes a challenge.

I’m probably just reading them badly, Reivan told herself. But she could not help feeling disturbed. Any sign of conflict between the Voices, no matter how small, is enough to make anyone uneasy. Even if one could forget the immense magical powers they could wield,