Voice of the Gods

“Mirar.”

He stared at her for a long time, expecting her to smile and admit to a joke. But she didn’t. She returned his stare with grim determination.

“But... that’s not possible,” he finally said. “Juran would have recognized him!”

She grimaced. “Somehow he suppressed his true identity to the point that neither he nor the gods were aware of it. But when he regained it the gods were able to identify him. Juran says his memory of Mirar had faded, and Leiard looked very different.”

“I doubt the gods were happy about this.”

“No. They sent Auraya to kill him.”

Danjin drew in a sharp breath and stared at her, appalled. “And she couldn’t.”

“No.”

“So they threw her out of the White.”

“No. She resigned, having rightly concluded that an inability to obey the gods is a weakness a White should not have.”

He winced. “They couldn’t expect her to kill someone she loved. Couldn’t someone else have done it?”

“He isn’t the man she loved. He is Mirar. And he was in Si. No other White could get to him as quickly as she.”

“Oh.” I bet she was cursing her flying ability that day, he thought.

“Leiard was a temporary personality behind which Mirar hid. She would not have been killing her former lover. She knew that.”

Danjin sighed. “I’m sure she did. Even so, I wouldn’t find it easy to kill the likeness of someone I loved.”

“Being a White is not meant to be easy.”

He nodded at that. She was right, but he found her ruthless judgment hard to accept. Surely she was being too hard on Auraya. But how could she feel sympathy for Auraya when she hadn’t yet faced such a dilemma herself?

Then how is it that I can sympathize with Auraya? Is Ella right? Am I too blindly loyal?

He sighed. “So she returned to Si...” He frowned as he realized what that might have meant. “Was Mirar still there?”

“No. He escaped to Southern Ithania, where the Pentadrians have welcomed him.”

The Pentadrians. And now Auraya was there. Danjin’s heart sank. “Is she now Mirar’s lover?” he asked with difficulty.

“I don’t believe so.”

“So her joining the Pentadrians has nothing to do with him?” he asked hopefully.

Ella looked away and frowned. “I don’t know. But there is something else you should know. Auraya met with a mysterious woman a few months ago. We believe she was a Wild, and taught Auraya forbidden Gifts. The ability to shield her mind from the gods... and perhaps the secret of immortality.”

“Auraya is a Wild?”

“Possibly.”

He shook his head. “So that makes her an enemy of the gods?”

Ella glanced at him and looked away again. “No.”

She didn’t elaborate, and it was curious to see her looking so uncomfortable. Perhaps only because she didn’t have the answer to this.

Danjin considered all he had learned. The gods hadn’t rejected Auraya. Ella had said Auraya was possibly a Wild. Perhaps the gods’ acceptance of her meant she wasn’t.

Or perhaps the existence of immortal sorcerers doesn’t bother them so long as those sorcerers worship them.

Ella turned to regard him again. “So, as you will see once you get over the surprise of these revelations, if the Pentadrians have a Wild’s strength to call upon they will be considerably stronger. Add to that the knowledge Auraya has of Circlian strengths and weaknesses and any thought of future conflicts is alarming.”

“Yes,” Danjin agreed.

“She knows us too well, but you know her better than anyone. I want you to consider all the ways she could use her knowledge of us against us, and how can we use our knowledge of her against her.”

He nodded. “Very well. I could do with something to occupy my mind on this journey.”

She gave him an odd look. “You are not distressed by the thought of plotting against Auraya?”

He smiled. “Another advantage of my loyalty. I don’t mind imagining her doing it because I don’t believe she will.”

Ella shook her head. “If that’s what it takes, then I won’t shatter any more of your illusions.” She rose. “Good night, Danjin Spear.”

“Good night.”

25

A soft mattress meant a bed, and a bed meant Auraya was in her room in the Tower... but that couldn’t be true.

Auraya opened her eyes and groaned as she remembered everything: the failed Siyee attack on the Pentadrian birds, her agreement with Nekaun; that she was in the Sanctuary, the enemy’s home. She was instantly awake, her mind going straight to the day ahead and what must happen soon.

I have been here nearly one night and day. If Nekaun keeps his word a Siyee will go free.

And if he doesn’t?

Then she would leave - if she could - and try to find a way to free the Siyee.

As she got out of bed she heard a small, sleepy noise of protest. Looking down, she saw Mischief blinking up at her. He stretched, the end of his tail quivering.

“Fooaaawwwd,” he said at the same time as yawning.

“I’ll see what I can arrange,” she told him.

Servants had brought her a mountain of clothing the day before. She had selected a simple shift to wear while sleeping, then cleaned and dried her circ and the trousers and sleeveless tunic she had arrived in. Changing into her priestess clothes again, she moved to the window.

It gave a splendid view of the city and the roofs and courtyards of the Sanctuary. The rooms she had been given were probably for important guests. I wonder who has stayed here before. The rooms are large, but they’re not highly adorned. There isn’t much furniture. Kings and such would probably stay somewhere bigger and fancier.

Mischief leapt up onto the sill, his ears pricked and his nose twitching.

“Stay here,” she warned. His ears dropped in disappointment, but he settled into a crouch with his tail wrapped around his body, his mind all acceptance.

A knocking came from the next room. She froze, then drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Walking away from the window, she moved to the double doors of the main room. When she opened them, Nekaun’s Companion, Turaan, bowed his head to her, as did the crowd of servants behind him.

Not servants, she reminded herself. Domestics.

“Good morning, Priestess Auraya,” Turaan said. “I bring food and water.”

She stepped aside. The domestics filed into the room, each carrying something. The man ordered them about. Several set their burdens on a table, then lifted woven covers to reveal elaborately prepared and arranged food, including fruit and bread. Two enormous pottery jugs were set on the floor, then a small crowd of men poured water from pitchers into them until they were close to overflowing.

Other domestics disappeared into the bedroom. Looking inside, she watched them tidy the bed with