Voice of the Gods

practiced efficiency, gather up the clothes she had slept in and those she had ignored, then file out of the room again. They did not touch her pack, and didn’t appear to notice Mischief sitting on the windowsill.

One, a young woman, turned to face Auraya, eyes downcast. She pointed to the tiled room, then at the jugs of water.

Auraya shook her head, though not without a twinge of regret. It had been a long time since she had enjoyed a hot bath, but she would not be able to relax knowing she would soon be playing guest to Nekaun.

“Priestess Auraya.”

She turned to face Turaan.

“The First Voice asked me to tell you he will be with you shortly. Please eat and be refreshed. You will accompany him to the roof to witness the release of a Siyee.”

She nodded and then watched the servants file out of the room again. Though they were quiet and reserved, their minds were full of curiosity, resentment and fear. She was the enemy. She was dangerous. Why was Nekaun treating her like a guest?

When the doors had closed behind them, she moved to the table and examined the food. Last night she had considered the possibility that Nekaun would try to poison her. She hadn’t tested her healing Gift on poison yet, but when she had considered how she would deal with such a threat she felt her confidence rising.

Taking fruit and bread, she moved to the window to eat it. A small thump drew her attention back to the table. Mischief was sniffing at one of the plates. As he began to nibble at one of the morsels she felt a stab of apprehension. What if he ate something poisonous? She could probably heal him, but what if she wasn’t there when it happened?

I’ll just have to take him with me everywhere.

She finished eating, then retrieved her pack from the bedroom. There was little inside. Just an empty water skin, some cures, a spare tunic and pair of trousers.

Emptying it, she shook sand and dust from it and set it aside. Then she sat down to wait.

Not long after, another knock came from the door. This time Nekaun stood beyond, Turaan behind him.

“Greetings, Sorceress Auraya.”

“Priestess,” she corrected.

“Priestess Auraya. It is time I honored my side of our bargain,” Nekaun said, smiling.

“Just a moment.” Picking up the pack, she called to Mischief. The veez bounded over to her and leapt up into her arms. Used to this routine, he dived straight into the pack. She hitched it over her shoulder and turned to face Nekaun.

“I’m ready.”

He nodded, then ushered her out into the corridor.

“What do you call that creature?”

“It is a veez,” she told him. “From Somrey.”

“A pet?”

“Yes.”

“It speaks.”

“They learn the words they need to express their wants or concerns, such as food, warmth and danger - which doesn’t make them stimulating conversationalists.”

He chuckled. “I suppose it wouldn’t. Did you sleep well?”

“No.”

“Did the heat bother you?”

“Partly.”

“You did choose the hottest part of the year to visit us,” he reminded her.

She decided not to respond to that. He led her up a flight of stairs.

“Was the food to your liking?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Anything you would like to request?”

She felt Mischief stir inside the pack. He was uncomfortably warm inside, and a little stifled.

“Raw meat for Mischief,” she replied. “And that all food be removed from my room when I leave it. I do not want him eating anything unsuitable.”

He’ll like the meat, she thought. And if he is poisoned I will know the attack was directed at him in order to harm me, rather than him taking food meant for me.

“That will be arranged,” Nekaun told her. “Here we are.”

He led her up a narrow staircase through a hole in the ceiling. They emerged into bright sunlight, on the roof of a building. She had seen seats and potted trees on many of the Sanctuary rooftops, indicating that they were treated much like courtyards.

Four Servants stood near another hole in the roof. They looked at Nekaun expectantly. He spoke a word and they turned to look down into the hole.

Auraya’s heart twisted as a Siyee climbed up onto the roof. He winced, then blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the light. Rope bound his wrists together, which must have been uncomfortable as it pinched in the membrane of his wings. His head moved from side to side as he took in the rooftop he was standing on. When he saw Auraya beside Nekaun and Turaan he stilled.

I’m the first, he thought joyfully. Then he felt a wave of guilt. The others... I don’t want to leave them behind... but I must. If I don’t, it might end this deal Auraya has made.

A Servant cut his bonds and another held out a water skin and a parcel of food. The Siyee examined them suspiciously, then tucked them away in his vest.

He looked at her, his mind full of gratitude. She nodded to him.

Just go, she thought at him.

As the Servants stepped away the Siyee turned his back on them and broke into a run, leaping off the building and gliding away.

Auraya slowly let out the breath she had been holding. The winged figure arced away from the Sanctuary, circling the hill and heading south. She watched him until she could no longer see him.

Then Nekaun turned to her and smiled.

“Now you must keep your side of the bargain, Sorceress Auraya, and I have much to show you.”

Rain and heat assailed Kave in successive waves each day, so the air became thick with humidity. Washed clothes refused to dry and dry clothes were wet with perspiration as soon as they were worn. The stink of the refuse below the city rose to cover all in a layer of foulness. Biting insects swarmed in clouds, forcing the city’s inhabitants to stay indoors, so Mirar and Tintel saw few people as they walked toward the river.

Tintel wiped her brow with a wet cloth and sighed.

“I so love this time of year,” she said dryly.

“How long does this last?” he asked.

“Up to four weeks. Once it went for six. Anyone who can afford to leaves Kave for the summer. Even if they can bear the heat, there is the summer fever to avoid.”

Mirar thought of the increasing number of sick people coming to the hospice. The other Dreamweavers had explained that this was a yearly occurrence, and soon the whole House would be filled with beds occupied by the sick. The fever was rarely fatal, however.

Ahead the houses ended abruptly a few hundred paces from the river’s edge. Narrow wooden staircases descended to the muddy ground below, where a temporary road of planks led away to the water’s edge.

Mirar and Tintel stopped. They could see a barge tied up to pylons, surrounded by Servants. Men dressed only in short trousers were carrying boxes and chests on board, their backs slick with sweat.

“I have a parting gift for you,” Tintel said.

Mirar turned to regard her.

“You don’t have to—”