Voice of the Gods

“The Circlians would never make me a priest, but these Pentadrians don’t mind if I don’t have Gifts.”

“Do you think their gods are real?”

“Amli’s stories make them sound like they are.”

“Yes. They do. What’s that noise?”

They both lay silent, listening. The faint sound of hurried footsteps reached them, coming from above, below and beyond the wall that separated them from the alley outside. There was a cry of alarm, cut short. Kalen felt his heart start racing. He stood up and tiptoed to the window. Something was happening. Something bad.

“What are you doing?” Ranaan asked fuzzily.

He’s actually falling asleep again! Kalen shook his head. He might be Gifted, but he has no instinct for survival. Looking out of the window, Kalen noted movement in the shadows. The noises grew louder.

“What’s going on?” Ranaan sat up, fully awake now.

“I don’t know, but I don’t intend to wait around to find out,” Kalen told him. “There are people in the alley outside. From the sound of it, they’re upstairs, too. There must be another way out. Amli probably has a secret exit somewhere.” He started for the door.

A shout rang out, muffled by the floorboards.

“That’s Amli,” Ranaan said.

A bright pinpoint of light appeared, illuminating the room. Below it hovered Ranaan’s palm.

“Put that out!” Kalen hissed. “They’ll—”

Footsteps pounded outside their door. Kalen cursed and dived for the window. He felt hands clamp about his leg and pull him back.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Ranaan said, standing up. “You could kill yourself falling from there. Or at least break a limb.”

“Worth the risk,” Kalen said. He looked past Ranaan’s shoulder. The door was open and two Circlian priests were striding toward them. One grasped Ranaan’s shoulder. The other took Kalen’s arm. Kalen sagged with resignation.

What’s the point of having an instinct for survival when it kicks in too late? he thought.

The priests escorted them out of the room and down the stairs. In the main room several of the Pentadrian converts stood in a huddle, surrounded by priests and priestesses. Amli and his wife faced another priestess, who was glaring at the couple.

“You disguised your men as priests and had them hire others to track Dreamweavers,” the priestess said. She spoke so confidently her words were more a statement than an accusation. “Then you had your men murder those Dreamweavers. You tried to make Circlians look bad in order to make Pentadrians appear better, when the truth was the opposite.” She shook her head. “I was told Pentadrians respected Dreamweavers. Was I told a lie?”

Ranaan made a small, strangled noise. Amli said nothing, just looked at the ground. The priestess stared at him, then shook her head. “If you found it so distasteful, why did you do it?” She paused. “Ah. Such loyalty is admirable, but it comes at a cost.”

“I am prepared to face the consequences,” Amli replied.

“I see that. Did you ever question whether a man with such low and dishonorable methods deserved your loyalty?”

“Ultimately it is the gods I serve,” Amli said, in a voice so quiet Kalen could only just hear him.

The priestess crossed her arms. “If your gods are real and as worthy of your loyalty as you think, would they allow such a man to rule your people? I think - ah! There he is, watching through your eyes from the safety of his home.” Her eyes flashed and she leaned closer. “You are a liar and a coward, First Voice Nekaun. Wherever your people are in the north, we will find them. And we will make sure everyone in the world knows of what you arranged here in Jarime. How will your people react when they know how low you’ve stooped?”

She blinked, then smiled and stepped back. Turning to another priest, she gestured at the Pentadrians. “Take them all to the Temple.”

As the priests began to herd everyone out, the priestess’s eyes moved around the room. Her eyes reached Ranaan and widened. Kalen’s heart sank as she walked over to his new friend.

“Ranaan,” she said quietly. “Why didn’t you come back to the hospice?”

Ranaan kept his eyes lowered. “I was afraid to, Priestess Ellareen - I mean Ellareen of the White.”

Her expression softened. “That’s understandable. You couldn’t have known you were saved by the people who had arranged your teacher’s murder.”

Ellareen of the White? As it dawned on Kalen that he was in the presence of one of the Gods’ Chosen he felt a rush of fear. The White are the Pentadrians’ enemies. She’s supposed to be my enemy, too.

The woman’s gaze shifted to Kalen and his stomach sank to the floor. I only joined them for some food and a bed, he thought at her. And for the thrill of it, he admitted. I’m so stupid. What was I thinking? They don’t even have orgies.

Ellareen’s lips twitched.

“Is it true?” Ranaan asked in a thin voice. “Did they kill Fareeh?”

The White turned back to him, her expression grave and sympathetic. “Yes. If you don’t believe me, I can introduce you to someone you will.”

“But... why would they do that?”

“To make Circlians look bad. To make becoming a Pentadrian more appealing.” She glanced around the room. Most of the Pentadrian converts had been taken out and the remaining priests were regarding her expectantly. “I will know more when I’ve had the chance to question everybody. I’m afraid you and your friend will have to come as well, but I’ll see you’re well treated.”

“Will... will we be locked up for this?” Ranaan asked.

She smiled. “Probably only for one night. Tomorrow we will know who has committed a crime and who hasn’t. You’ll be released then - and it will be safe for you to rejoin your people.”

Ranaan looked relieved. As the White stepped back and the priests began to usher them out, Kalen patted Ranaan on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, my friend. Even if the food isn’t as good, at least we’ll get a bed for the night.”

The flat bread Jade usually made each morning, of a local root pulped and flavored with spices, was surprisingly tasty. She had taught Auraya how to make it, and this morning Auraya had prepared the meal while Jade readied herself to leave. The bread baking on the heated cooking stone was nearly ready, so she busied herself making hot drinks.

Jade packed slowly and carefully, taking out and replacing several jars and bags along the back wall before deciding which to take. She had made many small pouches and tough clay jars that she fired to hardness with magic. These she filled with powders, dried leaves, fungi, roots, hardened resins, sticky gums and thick oils. Auraya realized she knew the uses most of these substances could be put to. During the preparation of her cures, Jade had explained what each was for, freely giving a little of what Auraya suspected was a great wealth of healing knowledge.

The bread was beginning to smoke as its crust toasted. Auraya removed it and poured hot water into two cups.

“Breakfast is ready,” she announced.

Jade straightened, then breathed deeply. “Ah, the smell of maita is so good in the morning.” She walked over to the beds and took the cup Auraya offered. Taking a sip, she sighed appreciatively.

“Will you come back here?” Auraya asked, breaking the bread in half and giving a portion to Jade.

“Eventually.” Jade looked at all the pots and bags. “Can’t let all that go to waste. You’re welcome to use it, too. No point in letting it go stale.”

“Thank you.”

Jade took a bite, chewed, swallowed and then sipped from her cup. “You still plan to go back to the