Voice of the Gods

“No, Sheyr!” Nekaun shook his head, his whole body quivering at the movement.

“You would take unnecessary risks for a moment of gratification.” The god’s head rose and he stared at Auraya. “Be satisfied that she is alone and friendless, with only her shadow for company.” His head snapped back to Nekaun. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Then go.”

Nekaun scrambled to his feet and fled. The glowing figure looked at Auraya again.

He winked, then faded away.

In his place stood a Servant. The man blinked and glanced around the hall, then backed away from her. She looked into his mind and realized that he had given his will over to the god. Otherwise Sheyr would not have been able to see her, or speak with a real voice.

He saved me. She shook her head. How could she feel such gratitude toward one of the Pentadrian gods when they had ordered Nekaun to break his vow and trap her here? “... with only her shadow for company.”

And the significance of his last words came to her. Shadow! She quietly began to laugh, not caring that there was a hysterical edge to her voice.

It was Chaia! And Nekaun fell for it!

40

At the first opportunity, Reivan slid out of bed. Her legs were shaking and for a moment she didn’t know what to do. Seeing her robes on the floor, she decided she would feel better dressed. Those were torn now. She moved to a chest and drew out another set.

“What’s wrong?”

She looked back at Nekaun. Lounging naked on the bed he was so beautiful it was painful. It took her breath away, but she made herself straighten her back. Stand up to him.

“That was unpleasant,” she told him.

His eyebrows rose. “Oh? You didn’t like it?”

“No.”

“You usually like it. Aren’t I welcome here any more?”

“Not if it’s going to be like that. You... you nearly choked me.”

“Some women like that. They say a little fear makes it more thrilling.”

She turned away and drew the robe around herself. “I don’t.”

“Don’t be angry. How could we know that until we tried it?”

She felt her anger weakening. “You should have asked me first.”

“Then you would be expecting it. Surprise is part of the pleasure.”

“It wasn’t. And the rest wasn’t much fun either. It was like...” She grimaced. Her insides felt bruised.

“Like what?”

She frowned. There was something in his voice. Almost a smugness. Almost as if he liked seeing her discomforted.

Turning to face him, she held his gaze. “It was like you were punching me with your... Surely, with your background in the arts of lovemaking, you would know that is not pleasant for a woman?”

He laughed. “You’re hardly the goddess of love. You’ve got a lot to learn. I think you could come to like a bit of rough play.”

“I don’t think so.”

He grinned. “Oh, I think you found what we just did more than a little exciting.”

She stared at him. “You can’t be serious. It was nice at first, but later... what part of ‘Stop, you’re hurting me’ didn’t make sense to you?”

He laughed. “You didn’t mean it.”

“You know I did.” She shook her head. “I think you enjoyed hurting me. You had that same look in your eye you’ve had since you chained Auraya up. I almost expected you to call out her name.”

His smile faded, then his eyes narrowed. Rolling to the edge of the bed, he stood up. She watched as his robes rose from the floor to his hands and he began to dress, his movements quick and angry.

She felt her anger ebb, leaving her numb. “You’re leaving.”

“Yes. If my efforts aren’t appreciated,” he said, “I’ll go where they are.”

Stung, she felt tears spring into her eyes. Stop it, she told herself. Stop being a fool. He meant to hurt you, so don’t let him see he succeeded.

He marched out of the bedroom. The sound of the door slamming echoed through her rooms. The silence afterward thundered in her ears. His words repeated over and over in her head. “You’re hardly the goddess of love.”

I’m not good enough for him. That’s why he was rough. He got impatient with me.

She moved to the bed, thinking only to curl up and give in to her misery. Then she saw the bloodstains. Her blood. A few drops only, but enough to remind her of his body slamming against hers, the manic look in his eyes, the hand about her throat and the way he had laughed when she had protested. Anger flared again. She rose and stalked to the bathing room.

I will scrub every last bit of him away, she told herself. He can bed every woman in Glymma. He can bed Auraya for all I care. If that’s what it takes to satisfy him he can find it elsewhere. I’m done with him.

If it weren’t for the constant nagging thought that Auraya was suffering in her prison under the Sanctuary, Mirar would have considered the day to have been particularly satisfying and enjoyable.

He had met with over a hundred of Glymma’s Dreamweavers to discuss their role as healers after the coming battle. Dreamweavers were travelling to the city from all over the continent, and Arleej had asked him to oversee all accommodation, food and travel arrangements. Though most of this work was organized by Dreamweaver House leaders, they all needed someone to make decisions where there was disagreement, and mediate with the Voices and Servants.

The Dreamweavers had joined together in one large mind link, and he had learned much from them. He let his mind shield slip only long enough to confirm his identity. He wanted to tell them of his “death” and survival, but Auraya featured too much in the story and he couldn’t afford chancing that the Voices would read their minds and discover that he didn’t dislike her as much as they believed.

From the Dreamweavers he had learned that they had suspected that he wasn’t really Mirar, that the Voices had recruited a Dreamweaver willing to pose as Mirar in order to influence Northern Ithania. Arleej had assured them this wasn’t true, but some were still shocked to discover, through the link, that he was their legendary, immortal founder.

After dining with Glymma’s Dreamweaver House leader, Mirar had returned to the Sanctuary late and immediately received an invitation to meet with Second Voice Imenja. A Servant escorted him to a balcony overlooking a courtyard, where a fountain glittered in the light of several lamps. Imenja was sitting in a reed chair and rose to greet him.

“Dreamweaver Mirar,” she said. “How did your meeting with your people go?”

“Very well,” he told her. “I still can’t get used to seeing Dreamweavers living without the constant fear of persecution. I’m heartened to see that they can exist in harmony with a religion of dominant power.”

She smiled. “Just like old times?”

He shook his head. “Yes and no. In the past there were so many gods that few dominated as completely as yours do. A single god might rule in small nations like Dunway, but never an entire continent. And never united with