The Last of the Wilds aotft-2 Page 34

  But the gods do.

  Yes. But they only know I’m a Dreamweaver who happens to be powerful enough to heal magically. They don’t know if I have actually learned to stop myself aging as well. If I behave as if I have something to fear they’ll guess I know more than I should. That’s why I can’t run. He started pulling himself along the rope again.

  They won’t take the risk that you haven’t become an immortal, Leiard warned. They’re biding their time. You’re useful to them right now, but the moment the Siyee are safe the gods will have you killed.

  By who? Auraya? It would be a bit much to ask their newest White to kill her former lover, don’t you think?

  You are taking an immense risk. If she knew your true identity she would not hesitate to kill you.

  And I’m not foolish enough to tell her. Neither am I foolish enough to stay here longer than I need to. Once the Siyee are well I will leave.

  Reet, as always, was waiting for Mirar at the next platform. As Mirar hauled himself along the rope the boy hovered at the edge, then when he reached the platform the boy stepped forward to help him up.

  Abruptly, Reet turned away and a rough sound escaped him. Mirar placed a hand on Reet’s shoulders and felt them shake with every cough.

  “Go inside and rest.”

  Reet grimaced. “If I lie down I might not get up again.”

  “That will be true if you don’t rest.”

  “Who will check on people? Who will take messages to Auraya?”

  “There are other Siyee well enough to take over the task. Now, let’s see how your brother is faring.”

  “He’s better,” a voice said from the bower.

  He turned to find Reet’s mother slouched against the entrance. Shaking his head, Mirar walked toward her.

  “You should be resting, too,” he told her.

  “You said I was recovering,” she replied.

  “Not that quickly.”

  “Someone has to feed the boys.”

  He took her arm and guided her back inside, helping her climb back into her bed. When she had settled he left Reet talking to her, and moved into the other room. Two sling beds hung to one side, one empty. The boy in the occupied one was sleeping, his breathing slow and unhampered, his skin pale but not bluish.

  It appears your prospective student has overcome the disease, Leiard said.

  Yes, Mirar replied. He turned and called to Reet.

  Reet’s footsteps were hurried. He looked at his brother anxiously.

  “He has beaten it,” Mirar told him. “In a few days he’ll have recovered his strength enough to walk.” He pointed to the empty bed. “Now it’s your turn. Rest.”

  Reet hesitated, then reluctantly climbed into the sling. Moving closer to Tyve, Mirar pretended to examine the sleeping boy while he watched his brother. Reet sighed, coughed a little, then his breathing slowed and he sank into an exhausted sleep.

  “Has Reet got it?”

  Mirar jumped at the voice. He looked at Tyve and found the boy watching him.

  “Do not fear for him,” he murmured. “I will make sure he recovers.”

  Tyve nodded. He closed his eyes and a faint smile crossed his face. “I know.”

  “You’re past the worst of it,” Mirar told him.

  “I’m so tired. When will I be able to fly?”

  “In a few days you can start building up the strength in your arms again.”

  Light footsteps brought Mirar’s attention to the room’s entrance. The boys’ mother entered, carrying a bowl of water. He sighed and crossed his arms.

  “What will it take to make you stay in bed?”

  “How long is it since Reet ate?” she countered.

  He felt a pang of guilt; he did not know. She searched his face and nodded.

  “I thought so. The White lady brought food and fresh water. I hear she is not as good a healer as you, but she can fly. That’s... useful.”

  Mirar took the bowl from her. “How do you know what the villagers are saying?” he asked, worried that people had been visiting each other secretly.

  “Reet has been carrying gossip as well as messages for you.”

  He chuckled and turned back to Tyve. The boy took the bowl and drank all the water thirstily. It appeared to give him some strength.

  “How is it you knew Auraya before now?” Tyve asked.

  “That is something I wish to keep private,” Mirar replied.

  Tyve’s eyebrows rose, then drew together into a frown. “You don’t like her.”

  Mirar found himself shaking his head. “That’s not true.”

  Taking the empty bowl, Mirar handed it to Tyve’s mother. She left to gather more.

  “You hate her, then?”

  “No.”

  Nosy, isn’t he? Leiard observed.

  “What do you think of her?”

  Mirar shrugged. “She is a capable woman. Powerful. Intelligent. Compassionate.”

  Tyve rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I meant. If you don’t hate her, what do you feel?”

  “Neither friendship nor animosity. I suppose I feel respect.”

  “So you do like her?”

  “If ‘respect’ means ‘like,’ then I guess I do.”

  Tyve made a small, dissatisfied noise and looked away. His eyes narrowed.

  “If I was your student would I get to travel the world?”

  Mirar laughed. “Who says you’re going to be my student?”

  “Nobody yet. But if I was, would I meet more important people like Auraya?”

  “I hope not.”

  The boy frowned. “Why wouldn’t you want me to?”

  “Important people are always either beset by troubles or are the source of strife themselves. Keep away from them.”

  You sound like me, Leiard injected.

  Tyve’s eyes brightened. “Is that what happened to you? Did Auraya bring you strife of some kind?”

  Mirar took a step toward the door. “That is none of your concern. I hope you recover your respect for elders and visitors when you recover your strength, Tyve. Otherwise I fear you’ll turn into a shameless gossip.” He turned away and walked to the door, and heard Tyve’s bed creak as he sat up.

  “But—”

  Looking over his shoulder, Mirar placed a finger to his lips and looked at the sleeping form of Reet meaningfully. Tyve bit his lip, then subsided into his bed with a sigh.

  Mirar met the boys’ mother in the next room.

  “You’re right,” he said. “Tyve is better. I fear you’ll have trouble keeping him in bed. Try to stop him from flying until his strength is fully returned.”

  She nodded. “And Reet?”

  “Watch him closely.”

  “I will.” She moved past him with the refilled bowl.

  Stepping outside the bower, Mirar moved to the sling. He paused to consider who was well enough to replace Reet as messenger. From behind came the thud of feet on wood. He turned to see Auraya standing a few steps away.

  “Lei-Wilar,” she said. “Speaker Veece is failing again. He needs your help.”

  Mirar found himself simultaneously dismayed and pleased. He was concerned by her news, and at the same time not sure why he should be happy that she’d sought him out. Perhaps only because she had acknowledged that his skills were greater than hers.

  No, Leiard said. That’s not it. You’re vain, but not that vain. It’s because she’s no longer avoiding you. You like her.

  “I’d better get myself over there,” he muttered. Moving to the sling, he shrugged into it. In his mind he plotted a path to the Speaker’s platform. It was at least three rope journeys away. He realized Auraya was still watching him.

  “I’ll meet you there,” he told her.

  She nodded, then moved to the edge of the platform and leapt off. Though she did not have to, she glided in an imitation of the Siyee’s graceful flight, reaching the Speaker’s bower in moments. She did it so easily, so naturally, that he could not help feeling a
n echo of his old, abandoned admiration for her.

  Not yours, Leiard corrected. Mine.

  I admired her, too, he retorted. Just not to point of becoming a besotted fool.

  Dropping off the platform, he began to pull himself toward the next. It was an uphill climb, and soon he was breathing heavily with the effort. His hands hurt where they had been rubbed raw on the harsh rope.

  Still, it’s better than climbing up and down ropes all day and night, Leiard pointed out.

  Reaching the next platform, Mirar slipped out of the sling and moved to another rope. Shrugging into the second sling, he slid down to a smaller platform. From there it was a harder journey to the Speaker’s home. Auraya was watching him, which only made him conscious of how awkward and graceless he must look. He settled into the third sling and started hauling himself along.

  Suddenly the sling began to move of its own accord. Looking up, he saw Auraya standing on the platform ahead, one hand outstretched.

  Moving you with magic. Now why didn’t you think of that? Leiard asked.

  I was concerned the ropes would be damaged if I travelled too fast, Mirar retorted. You know that.

  Fast or slow, the wear would be the same, Leiard said. I know you know that.

  Mirar scowled. You win. I didn’t think of it. I’m an idiot. Satisfied?

  As he neared the platform he saw that Auraya was smiling. He felt his stomach flip over.

  She is wonderful, Leiard murmured.

  Don’t start this again, Mirar warned.

  Then his feet were on the platform and Auraya was helping him out of the sling. Her smile was gone, replaced by a frown of anxiety.

  “His body just can’t fight it,” she told him. “This may be one of those times of last resort you spoke of.”

  He nodded. “I agree.”

  “I...” She paused, then shook her head.

  He turned to look at her. “What?”

  She shook her head again, then sighed. “I have to ask. When I think of how many lives might be saved, I can’t let... other things... get in the way.” She straightened her shoulders. “Would you teach me how to kill a disease within a body?”

  He stared at her. She held his gaze.

  She can’t know the significance of the healing, he thought.

  No, she must think that what she’s asking for is one of the Dreamweavers’ greatest secrets, Leiard said. I think she’d understand if you refused.

  Yes, Mirar agreed. But can I? When I think of the future... The Circlians are here to stay, whether I like it or not. There is only one of me in the world and I am not free to go where I am needed. She is right that she could save many lives. I would not be revealing anything more about myself than she knows already.

  But surely the gods will not allow it!

  Why not? She’s already immortal. He paused. They must have some other way of making her ageless. If she can defy time as we immortals do, then she should already be able to heal magically.

  So if her immortality is gained by other means than ours, you can’t assume she’ll be capable of healing magically, Leiard concluded. Perhaps that is why the gods have not already given her this Gift. Which is strange. Surely being able to heal people would be a great advantage to a White. There may be a reason why they don’t want them to, and if you teach her it might anger them and...

  Auraya was frowning now. He realized he had been staring at her for some time, and looked away.

  “I... I will consider it,” he told her.

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  Then she turned to the bower and led him in to see Speaker Veece.

  31

  Aime had been a profitable place for a healer to visit. Emerahl had not expected it to be since there were priests aplenty, the Temple was not far from the market and she had even seen a few Dreamweavers about. It appeared few of either were female, however. Her customers had been women of all ages, too shy or embarrassed to consult a male healer about their more personal ailments, or women who simply preferred to be treated by another woman.

  She had rented a room from the master of mooring, who had been keen to help her out after she had freed up the blood flow in his leg where scar tissue had restricted it. After several days she had a purse heavy with coin, but the moon had waned and appeared again as a thin crescent, and she had to leave in order to make it back to the Stack in time.

  Last night a short storm had forced her to seek shelter in a bay. It was large enough to support a substantial fishing village, where she rented herself a room. She was making her way back to her boat when she felt a tug on her sleeve.

  She turned, expecting to find a customer had approached her. The skinny, dirty boy in well-patched clothes at her elbow was not what she was anticipating.

  “How can I help you?” she asked, hiding her dismay. This was obviously a street child and it was doubtful he, or whoever he might be approaching her on behalf of, would be able to pay her.

  “Come see,” he said, still tugging at her sleeve.

  She smiled. “See what?”

  “Come see,” he repeated, his gaze overly bright.

  All she detected from him was purpose and urgency.

  “Is somebody hurt?” she asked.

  “Come see.” He continued tugging at her sleeve.

  She straightened. He might be a simpleton, sent by someone to find a healer. The bags of cures on her belt were a clear advertisement of her profession that even an idiot child would recognize.

  She nodded. “All right. Show me.”

  He took her arm and led her away.

  It was just as well she was leaving. Whoever had sent the child probably wouldn’t have any money but perhaps they could pay her some other way. Countless times in the past she had found that if word got around that she would cure the poor and helpless for no charge, hoards of sick and poor would somehow track her down. Soon after, customers that could afford to pay started demanding they get free healing too. It didn’t matter how small or large the town, the situation could become difficult in mere hours.

  The boy had led her into an alley so narrow she had to walk sideways in places. In doorways she caught glimpses of thin faces and eyes noting her passing speculatively. She drew magic and surrounded herself with a light barrier.

  They emerged in another street. The boy turned down this and they descended several staircases. A wider street followed then they emerged onto grassy dunes that followed the arch of the bay. He started down a track, still holding her arm, toward a rocky point.

  As they drew closer, she grew aware of the booming of the sea. The boy took her off the path and let her arm go. He hurried toward the rocks, jumping from boulder to boulder.

  Has someone hurt themselves falling off these rocks? she wondered. Or drowned, perhaps. I hope not. Sometimes those with limited minds didn’t comprehend when others were dead. They thought them merely sick.

  The boy turned to look at her and beckoned. His voice was barely audible over the roaring.

  “Come see.”

  She lengthened her strides. He waited until she was closer before continuing on. The rocks grew larger and more jumbled. It took most of her concentration to make her way over them. The roaring of the sea grew louder. When she judged she was about halfway to the end of the point the boy suddenly stopped and let her catch up with him.

  From a few steps away a spout of water roared from the ground.

  It rose up twice the height of a man, floated for a second, then splashed back down into a wide depression where it drained down a hole in the rocks. Emerahl found she was stiff with shock, her heart pounding.

  The boy was grinning widely. He moved to the highest of the surrounding piles of boulders and climbed up to the top. Sitting down, he beckoned to her.

  Is this all he brought me here for? she thought.

  “Come up,” he called.

  Taking a deep breath, she pushed aside her annoyance and started climbing. When she reached the top he smiled and patte
d the rock beside him.

  “Sit down, Emerahl.”

  She paused, frozen by the shock of both hearing her name and the realization that he had spoken in a language long dead. As it dawned on her who this was, she found all she could do was stare at him. He smiled up at her. His overly bright gaze was not that of a simpleton, but of a mind much, much older than his body appeared.

  “Are you...?” She left her question deliberately unfinished. No sense giving him a name to give back to her, if this was not the one she sought.

  “The Gull?” he said. “Yes. Do you want me to prove it?” He cupped his hands together and whistled.

  A moment later something whisked past her ear. A sea bird hovered over his cupped hands for a moment, wings beating, and she saw an object drop from its claws before it swooped away. He held up his hands. In them was a moon shell strung onto a rope of “old woman’s hair.” He picked out a strand of weed, then let it float away on the wind.

  She sat down.

  “We thought you were dead,” he said.

  Emerahl laughed. “I thought you were dead. Wait... you said ‘we.’ Are there other immortals left from the past age?”

  “Yes.” He looked away. “I will not say who. It is not up to me to reveal that.”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  “So why have you revealed yourself to me?”

  Drawing in a deep breath, she let it out slowly while considering where to begin. “I spent most of the last century living as a hermit. I’d still be there if a priest hadn’t decided to visit me. I slipped away and haven’t stopped travelling since.”

  “The Circlians chased you,” The Gull said.

  She looked at him in surprise. “Yes. How did you know that?”

  “The gossip of sailors spreads faster than the plague,” he quoted.

  “Ah. So you know I evaded them.”

  “Yes. They lost you in Porin about the time the news came that the Pentadrians were invading. Where did you go then?”

  “I... ah... I followed the Toren army.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Why?”

  “I joined a brothel. It was the best hiding place at the time.” She noted that there was no dismay or disapproval in his expression. “The brothel travelled behind the Toren army and I figured it was a good way to escape the city unnoticed.”