Voice of the Gods

Then she was gone. He returned to the room reluctantly. Raeli had moved to the window and was peering down at the street.

“I see nothing unusual,” she said.

As Danjin moved to her side she glanced at him and stepped away. Looking outside, he drew in a quick breath. Ella had emerged on the street. People were stopping and staring at her in surprise, but she ignored them. She walked up to a bread-seller lounging against his cart. As he realized she was approaching him he straightened and glanced to either side as if looking for an escape. Then he turned to face her, keeping his eyes to the ground.

Whatever she said to him brought a look of terror to his face. She turned and walked away. The young man hesitated, again glancing around. Ella looked over her shoulder and spoke again. The bread-seller’s shoulders slumped and he shuffled after her.

As the pair moved out of sight, Danjin stepped back. She must have caught some of his thoughts and seen in them something important. Something very important. Nothing else would make her risk revealing that she has been secretly spying on people outside the hospice.

The silence in the room was rapidly growing awkward. Danjin began to make polite enquiries of the two Dreamweavers. How had Raeli been since the war? Where was Kyn born? The male Dreamweaver was from Dunway, as his name suggested, but his mother was Genrian. It was an unusual heritage, and Danjin guessed that becoming a Dreamweaver had earned the man an acceptance and respect that his half-breed status would never have in Dunway or Genria.

When the sound of a door closing echoed through the house, Danjin paused to listen. He heard distant voices but could not discern what was said. Then a single set of footsteps drew closer.

The door opened and Ella stepped inside.

“Please excuse my abrupt departure,” she said. “I just found someone I’ve been looking for and couldn’t risk that he might move on before I had a chance to talk to him.” She sat down and adjusted her circ. “Now... well, I asked you to come here so I could tell you the results of my research.” Her expression became earnest. “I hope you’ll take my advice, but I’ll understand if you don’t. It is no easy thing to do. You can contact Mirar, if you choose to take my advice, and explain that it is necessary - and temporary.”

She smiled and regarded the two Dreamweavers expectantly. The pair glanced at each other, then Raeli looked at Ella.

“Thank you for giving us this information. It is reassuring to know the White are so concerned for our welfare. I will communicate your advice to Dreamweaver Elder Arleej and let you know what she decides.”

Ella nodded. She stood up. “Let me know if you need anything from us.”

The Dreamweavers rose and Danjin ushered them out. When he returned, Ella was standing at the top of the stairs.

“Someone you were looking for?” he prompted.

She smiled grimly. “Yes.” Crossing her arms, she drummed her fingers against her sleeve. “In a moment our guests will be out of the alley... there they go. Come on, Danjin. We’re going back to the White Tower.”

He followed her down the stairs and out into the alley, to the tired old covered platten they always arrived in. As she reached out to the door flap she paused and held a finger to his lips, before gesturing for him to enter.

Someone was in there, he realized. Two people. He climbed in slowly and cautiously. One of the men was the driver. The other was the bread-seller, bound, gagged, and looking terrified.

There was something disturbing about that. Danjin found himself imagining what had happened after Ella and the bread-seller had moved out of sight. Had she forced the man into the platten? Had she bound him? No, the driver must have done that for her.

Ella climbed in after Danjin. Her expression was grim as she regarded the prisoner. She gave the driver a nod, and he got out. The platten swayed as he stepped up onto the driver’s seat and urged the arem into motion.

“Bagem here has been paid to watch the hospice,” Ella told Danjin. “He was to note the movements of Dreamweavers in particular, and follow them if he could.”

And kill them? Danjin thought, giving the young man a speculative look. Though the bread-seller looked completely intimidated, that might simply be because he’d been caught by one of the White.

“He wasn’t to harm them himself,” Ella said. “But he knew it was likely his information would lead to more Dreamweaver murders. He can identify his employer, and others involved in the game. I think the other White need to see what I’ve seen in his mind, too.” She turned to look at Danjin, her eyes wide with distress. “Because if the men who paid Bagem weren’t in disguise, they must be priests.”

11

If Reivan’s assistant, Kikarn, had been puzzled by her behavior this morning he hadn’t given any sign. She had asked him to list all of the possible matters she could attend to until he came up with one that would take her away from the Sanctuary for the day. The way he had taken her break of routine in his stride had been almost unnerving.

Perhaps he simply understands that a person has to get away from the Sanctuary now and then to preserve their sanity, she mused.

Reivan had managed to keep her mind occupied on her chosen task for most of the day. Only occasionally did she find herself thinking back to the previous night, and then it felt more like a dream than a memory. Those moments of distraction were pleasant, but were soon spoiled when she found herself worrying about what Imenja would think. Or say. Or do.

Like dismiss me, Reivan thought. Send me away to be an unSkilled Servant in some remote place, spending the rest of my days translating scrolls. No, translating scrolls would be too enjoyable. More likely I’d end up doing unpleasant menial work or some boring administration job.

Avoiding Imenja all day had been a futile, childish thing to do, and had only gained her a few extra, anxiety- filled hours before the inevitable confrontation. When her task had been complete, and shadows had begun to envelop the city, she had dragged herself back to the Sanctuary.

All was quiet as she reached the stairway that would take her up to her rooms. She paused and looked through an archway to the courtyard outside. Everything was blue with the twilight, except where lamps cast orange pools on the pavement.

Will Nekaun visit me again tonight? she wondered. Her heartbeat quickened. I hope so but... I’m tired. Moving to the archway, she leaned against one side. It was so peaceful here. She felt the knots of tension inside her loosen.

Maybe Imenja won’t mind, she thought. Maybe this will prompt her and Nekaun to reconcile their differences. I could be the one who, inadvertently, makes peace between the First and Second Voice.

She snorted softly.

Not likely! What do I know of reconciling differences or making peace? I had a hard enough time convincing the Thinkers to even notice I existed, and they kicked me out at the first opportunity. The way the Servants reacted to me when I first came here made it clear they didn’t think I belonged. I still don’t even have any friends, so what chance is there that I can mend rifts between others?

“You have one friend,” a familiar voice said from behind Reivan.

Looking back, she grimaced apologetically at Imenja.

“Second Voice. I... ah... I... I’m sorry for—”

Imenja put two fingers to her lips, then beckoned and moved out into the courtyard. She turned to regard one of the pools. The water rippled, then a spout formed and droplets arched through the air. The courtyard echoed with the sound. Imenja sat on one of the benches nearby.