Voice of the Gods

“So the White are only four, and one of their former enemies may have returned,” Genza said. “Can we take advantage of this?”

“No.” Nekaun’s answer was firm and his expression serious. “The rumors that Mirar is alive are just rumors, and our people in Jarime reported that a replacement for Auraya was chosen yesterday. Her name is Ellareen Spinner.”

The others absorbed this in silence for a moment, then Vervel made a low noise. He looked at Nekaun, then at the spy.

Nekaun nodded. “Thank you, Heshema. We must now discuss this in private.”

The spy made the sign of the star, then left the balcony.

“So,” Vervel said when the man’s footsteps had faded, “if Auraya is still an ally of the White, they now have the advantage.”

“Yes.”

“Will they invade us, do you think?”

“We can’t risk that they won’t,” Nekaun replied. “We must find a way to tip the balance in our favor again.”

“If only Mirar had returned,” Shar said wistfully.

“Even if he had, a sorcerer who will not kill is of no use to us,” Imenja said. “Not when Auraya is willing to, as she so effectively demonstrated in the battle.”

“We must find another way,” Nekaun said - for once in agreement with Imenja, Reivan noted. “I want you all to think about this carefully. My spies are gathering as much information as they can about the new White. I would like to know what Skills and strength Auraya has retained.”

The Voices and their Companions nodded. After a measured silence, Nekaun smiled and, without warning, looked at Reivan. A thrill ran through her body and she felt herself flush.

“Now, to other matters. Tell us, Reivan, how many raider ships have our Elai friends sunk this week?”

4

Stopping before the bridge, Mirar looked up at the two-story stilt house and smiled. He hadn’t visited a Dreamweaver House in a century... if he didn’t count his visit to the one in Somrey, when he had been Leiard. They had long ago disappeared from Northern Ithanian cities and towns so it had been a pleasant surprise to find they still existed in Southern Ithania.

He crossed the bridge, approached the door and knocked.

Footsteps sounded on a wooden floor inside, then the door opened and a middle-aged woman in Dreamweaver robes looked out. Mirar hesitated, sure that he had missed something, then realized he had been expecting to hear the rattle of a lock being opened.

The Dreamweavers in Southern Ithania don’t even lock their doors!

“Greetings. I am Dreamweaver Tintel,” the woman said, smiling and opening the door wider. What she said afterward was incomprehensible to him, but he sensed friendliness and her gesture told him she was welcoming him inside.

“Thank you. I am Dreamweaver Wilar.” He stepped into a small room. Pairs of sandals sat neatly at the edges. Removing shoes while indoors was a local custom. He could hear the sound of many voices somewhere beyond the walls.

Reaching into his bag, he took out the pouch of coins Rikken’s assistant, Yuri, had given him. When Mirar had refused to take the large payment for his services, Yuri had told him to give the money to the Dreamweaver House instead.

“For the House,” Mirar said in the Avven tongue as he handed it to Tintel, hoping she understood.

The woman took the bag and looked inside. Her eyebrows rose. She said something he did not understand. When he frowned and shook his head, she stopped to consider him, and he saw comprehension dawn in her eyes.

“You are a foreigner?” she asked in Avven.

“Yes. From the north.”

“We do not often get visitors from there.”

That does not surprise me, he thought. He bent to remove his shoes. When he was done the hostess opened another door, revealing a much larger room. Tables ran the length of it and many of the chairs were occupied by Dreamweavers.

“We are near to eating dinner. Join us.”

He followed her in. Tintel spoke loudly and the Dreamweavers turned to regard her and Mirar. He guessed she was introducing them and made the formal gesture of touching heart, mouth and forehead. All smiled and a few spoke a greeting, but none returned the gesture. After Tintel had led him to a chair the Dreamweavers returned to their conversation.

The atmosphere was relaxed and though Mirar couldn’t understand them he was reassured by their laughter. Servants brought a meal of flat toasted bread laid on top of bowls full of a spicy stew, and a milky drink that, to Mirar’s relief, eased the burning of the spice. Most of the Dreamweavers were young, he noted. Their talk quietened and grew more serious as their bellies filled. Tintel had joined them when the food had been served, and now she looked at Mirar.

“What do you know of the trouble in Jarime, Wilar?” she asked in Avvenan.

He frowned. “I know crowds of Circlians have gathered to speak out against the... the hospice.” He used the Hanian word, unable to think of an Avvenan equivalent.

Tintel grimaced. “It is worse. Dreamweavers have been beaten. Killed. A Dreamweaver House was burned.”

“There is no...” Mirar stopped as he realized what she must mean. There were no Dreamweaver Houses in Jarime, but there were a few safehouses - homes of people who were sympathetic to Dreamweavers and offered them accommodation.

People like Millo and Tanara Baker. He felt a chill as he thought of the couple he had stayed with while in Jarime. Only locals and friends had known their home was a safehouse - until I came along. Then I became Dreamweaver Adviser to the White and a lot more people would have known about the Bakers’ safehouse. I hope it wasn’t their house that was burned.

“I had not heard about this,” he said. “I will link with Northern Dreamweavers tonight to find out what I can of my friends there.”

“What brings you to Dekkar?” a young man asked.

Mirar shrugged. “I like travelling. I wanted to see the south.”

“Not to escape the killings?”

Tintel made a warning sound and gave the man a disapproving look. Mirar smiled.

“It is a fair question,” he said. “I did not know it would get so bad there so quickly. I am happy it is good here, but I wish I could help my friends.”

The men and women around the table nodded in sympathy.

“It is good here for Dreamweavers,” one of the young men said.

Mirar nodded. “I found the Servants...” He searched for the right word. “... friendly.”

“They don’t know healing like we do,” a young woman said. “They pay well, too.”

“The Servants let you heal them?” he asked, surprised.

The Dreamweavers nodded.

“I heard linking is forbidden in the north. Is that true?” the young woman asked.

“It is.” As Mirar looked at her, she smiled. Something about the smile made him look closer. As he recognized the subtle messages in her posture and expression he felt his pulse quicken.

Ah. This one knows what she likes in a man and isn’t afraid to seek it, he thought. He wouldn’t be surprised if she sought him out later. The question was, what would he do if she did?

“Dreamweavers don’t link at all?” someone asked.