Voice of the Gods

Nekaun had imprisoned Auraya.

How that was possible was still not clear to Reivan. Or why Nekaun hadn’t killed Auraya. When she had asked, Imenja had simply talked about something else.

The news had brought smiles to many Servants’ faces, and the relief of all was heard in the voices of those gossiping in the Baths and corridors. Reivan had been surprised at her own pleasure at the news. I should be worried about the advantage we are losing by not gaining Auraya’s alliance, but all I can think of is that Nekaun won’t be spending all his time with her now!

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She sighed. The news must have spread beyond the Sanctuary by now. Many of the people she dealt with on Imenja’s behalf would want confirmation.

Reaching the door, she opened it and froze in disbelief.

“Good evening, Reivan.”

I’m dreaming, she thought. I probably dreamed I got out of bed and in a moment I’ll wake up.

But she didn’t. Nekaun really was standing there. She didn’t know what to do. Or say.

Nekaun smiled. “Aren’t you going to let me in?”

Speechless, she stepped back. As he walked past her she caught his scent and felt a deep longing. Nekaun turned to regard her. “It is too long since we talked, Reivan.”

She nodded and closed the door. Moving to the table she poured water into two glasses and handed one to him.

Just as she used to.

He drank, set aside the empty glass, then moved closer and took hers from her hand.

Just as he used to.

“You’ve heard the news?” he asked. “Auraya is trapped, helpless, beneath the Sanctuary.”

Auraya. She frowned as the word woke her from her daze. “Yes.”

He sighed. “I don’t know why the gods put me through all that. Were they testing me or her? I don’t know. Right now I don’t care.”

“So you weren’t enjoying her company, then?” she found herself asking.

He grimaced. “Tedious beyond description.” His eyes narrowed. “Were you jealous of her?”

She looked away, knowing it was pointless denying it.

He laughed softly and drew her into his arms. “Oh, Reivan. How silly of you. Who could be attracted to such a sour, suspicious woman? I’d rather woo an arem.”

His smell, his warmth, overwhelmed her. He’s back! she thought.

How long for? a dark voice asked.

Be quiet, she told it.

“I’ve missed you,” he said.

Her heart flipped over. “I’ve missed you, too.”

He drew closer. She knew what came next and felt her heart racing as he leaned down to kiss her.

Then he froze, his eyes widening in surprise. A fierce, intense look came into his eyes. Reivan pulled out of his rigid arms, a little frightened by his expression. His eyebrows lowered into a scowl, then he let out a sharp breath and his eyes met hers. They blazed with anger.

“I’m sorry, Reivan. I will not be able to stay.” His jaw clenched. “The gods have just ordered me to ready our army. The Circlians are planning to invade us.”

She stared at him, shock almost overcoming her disappointment as he touched her gently on the cheek, then marched from the room.

Second Voice Imenja had kept Mirar occupied all day, taking him to see artisans on the outskirts of the city. They had eaten fish caught fresh from the river and talked about healing and magic. All day he had been aware that only one more Siyee remained to be freed. He expected Imenja to offer up Auraya’s death at any moment, but she had said nothing.

Returning late to the Sanctuary, he had sensed a buzz of excitement and satisfaction in the air. As soon as he had reached his rooms he lay down and entered a dream trance, intending to skim the minds around him and find out what had stirred the Servants up. But before he could send his mind out, another called to him.

:Mirar!

:Surim? Tamun?

:Yes, Surim said. I have news. Bad news.

:Oh?

:The Voices have imprisoned Auraya under the Sanctuary, Tamun said.

Mirar jolted awake. He stared at the ceiling, then closed his eyes and forced his heartbeat and breathing to slow. It took a maddeningly long time to settle into a dream trance again.

:Surim?

:Mirar. You woke up?

:Yes.

:Sorry. I should have broken the news more gently, Tamun said.

:Don’t apologize. Just tell me how and why.

:It appears there is a void under the Sanctuary. It must have been a secret, known only to the Voices.

:A void. She will be completely vulnerable.

:As vulnerable as any mortal.

:Why didn’t she sense it? Surely she wouldn’t have entered it if she had.

:I don’t know. A distraction, probably.

:Why did they imprison her? Why not kill her? Mirar paused. They haven’t realized that she and I were once lovers, have they?

:Not as far as any mortals there know, Surim assured him.

:You will know if they try to use her against you, Tamun pointed out.

:More likely they’ll take you down there and offer to let you kill her in exchange for something, Surim warned.

:And what will they do when I refuse?

:I wouldn’t, if I were you. I’d pretend to think about it.

:You can’t be sure you are the only reason they’ve done this, too, Tamun said. The Circlians have summoned their armies. They’re coming to invade Southern Ithania. Keeping Auraya out of the way is a wise decision.

:Wiser to kill her, Mirar disagreed grimly. If the Pentadrians know war is coming, they’ll try to recruit me and my Dreamweavers again.

:What will you do?

Mirar did not answer. Would the Pentadrians make him choose between breaking the laws of his people and sacrificing Auraya?

They’ll try, he thought.

:I’ll rescue Auraya, he told The Twins.

:That would be extremely foolish, Tamun said. You would earn the enmity of the Pentadrians. All Dreamweavers will suffer.

:Only if they know I did it.

Pulling out of the dream-link, Mirar stared at the ceiling. Then he sent his mind out to skim those around him.

Sure enough, the news of Auraya’s imprisonment had spread through the Sanctuary. He searched and found the minds of two Servant-warriors guarding an underground hall. Through their eyes he saw a lonely figure, arms chained to an oversized chair. His heart shrank, as if as appalled by the scene as his mind was.

In a void she had no access to magic. She was more vulnerable than the least Gifted beggar woman. Worse, even, for she wasn’t used to physical hardship or humiliation.