That was something to consider later. Looking at the sleeping yern, he realized he had a problem. He had brought a length of rope, intending to hoist it up a tree to keep it out of the reach of most predators while he flew home to bring others back to admire his achievement and help butcher it. Now he doubted he had the strength even to drag it to the nearest trunk. He had no choice but to leave it there and hope predators didn’t find it. That meant he must fetch helpers quickly. He’d fly faster without the harness. Unbuckling it, he shrugged out of the contraption and hung it up in a nearby tree. He drew his knife and cut a handful of hair from the yern’s mane and tucked it into a pocket. Judging the direction of the wind, he began to run.
Becoming airborne from the ground took a great deal of energy. Tryss leapt into the air and beat his wings, and was gasping with exertion by the time he had reached a height where the winds were stronger and allowed him to glide and soar. Once he had caught his breath, he sped himself along with strong wing-beats, following favorable currents of air.
It was at these moments that he could forgive the goddess Huan for the hardship and difficulties his people faced. He loved to fly. Apparently landwalkers loved using their legs, too. They enjoyed an entertainment called “dancing” in which they walked or ran in set patterns, alone or in groups of two or more. The closest Siyee equivalent was trei-trei, which could be a part of Siyee courtship or a sport for testing skill and agility.
Tryss’s musing ended as he sighted a stretch of bare rock ahead, like a long, narrow scar dividing the mountain’s pelt of trees. It was broken into three steps that descended the mountain slope. This was the Open, the largest Siyee settlement. Countless Siyee came and went from this steep clearing every day. Tryss descended slowly, searching for familiar faces. He had almost reached his parents’ bower when he spotted his cousins. The twins were sitting on the warm rocks of the lower slope on either side of a girl.
Tryss felt his chest tighten as he recognized the fine-boned, glossy-haired girl: Drilli, whose family recently became his neighbors. He circled and considered flying on. In the past he had got along well with his cousins—if he was prepared to weather a lot of teasing for his strange ways. Then Drilli’s family had moved to the Open. Now his cousins competed for her attention, often at Tryss’s expense. He had learned to avoid their company when she was around.
They had once respected his inventiveness, and he still wanted to share his victories with them, but he couldn’t tell them about his successful hunt while Drilli was there. They would turn it into something to taunt him about. Besides, his tongue always tied itself in knots when she was near. No, he should find someone else.
Then he noticed that, from above, the cut of her vest revealed that fascinating small hollow between her breasts and he found himself circling one more time. His shadow passed over her and she looked up. He felt a dizzying thrill of pleasure as she smiled at him.
“Tryss! Come down and join us. Ziss and Trinn just told me the funniest joke.”
The two boys looked up and scowled, clearly wanting her attention all for themselves. Well, too bad, Tryss thought. I just brought down a yern. I want Drilli to see it. Swooping down, he folded his wings and landed lightly before them. Drilli’s eyebrows rose. At once his throat sealed up and he couldn’t speak. He stared at her, feeling his face begin to tingle the way it did whenever it turned red.
“Where have you been?” Ziss demanded. “Aunt Trill’s been looking for you.”
“You’d better go see what she wants,” Trinn warned. “You know what she’s like.”
Drilli laughed. “Oh, she didn’t seem all that worried. I don’t think you need to go right away, Tryss.” She smiled again. “So, where have you been all morning?”
Tryss swallowed hard and took a deep breath. He could manage one word, surely.
“Hunting,” he choked out.
“Hunting what?” Ziss scoffed.
“Yern.”
The two boys snorted with disbelief and amusement. Trinn turned to Drilli and leaned close as if to share a secret, but his voice was pitched loud enough for Tryss to hear.
“Tryss has got these strange ideas, you see. He thinks he can catch big animals by tying rocks to himself and dropping them on them.”
“Rocks?” she said, frowning. “But how—?”
“Spikes,” Tryss blurted out. “Spikes with florrim juice on the tips.” He felt his face heat up, but when he thought of the unconscious yern a cool rush of pride came over him. “And I have caught one.” He dug into his pocket and drew out the lock of yern hair.
The three Siyee regarded the hair with interest. Ziss looked up at Tryss with narrowed eyes. “You’re having us for a joke,” he accused. “You got this from a dead one.”
“No. It’s asleep from the florrim. I’ll show you.” Tryss glanced at Drilli, amazed and relieved that he was finally managing to form whole sentences around her. “Bring your knives and we’ll have a feast tonight. But if you wait too long a leramer will find it and we’ll get nothing.”
The boys exchanged glances. Tryss guessed they were weighing the chances of this being a joke against the possibility of meat for dinner.
“Fine,” Ziss said, rising and stretching. “We’ll see this yern for ourselves.”
Trinn stood up and flexed his wings. As Drilli got to her feet, clearly intending to follow, Tryss felt his heart skip. She was going to be impressed when she saw the yern. He grinned, broke into a run and leapt into the sky.
Leading them away, he scowled with annoyance when the twins flew over to a group of older boys near the end of the Open. Tryss recognized Sreil, the athletic son of Speaker Sirri, the leader of his tribe. His mouth went dry as the group swooped toward him, whistling shrilly.
“Got yourself a yern, have you?” Sreil called as he passed.
“Might have,” Tryss replied.
More questions came, but he refused to explain how he had brought the animal down. He’d been unable to persuade many Siyee to look at his harness before this. If he started describing it now, they would get bored and lose interest. Once they saw the yern, however, they would want to know how he’d caught it. He would demonstrate the harness. They’d start to take his ideas seriously. After several minutes he glanced behind. To his consternation, the group following him had doubled in size. Doubts began to eat at his confidence, but he pushed them away. Instead, he let his imagination take him into the future. Sreil would take meat back to Speaker Sirri. The Siyee leader would ask to see Tryss’s invention. She would have Tryss make more and teach others to use them.
I’ll be a hero. The twins will never mock me again.
He roused himself from his daydream as he neared the place he had left the yern. Circling around, he searched the area but found nothing. Feeling eyes on him, he dropped to the ground and paced about. There was a hollow in the grass the size of a large beast, but no yern.
He stared at the hollow in disappointment, then felt his stomach sink as Siyee dropped to the ground all about him.
“So, where’s this yern, then?” Ziss asked.
Tryss shrugged. “Gone. I told you if we took too long a leramer would find it.”
“There’s no blood.” This came from one of the older boys. “If a leramer took it, there’d be blood.”
“And there’s no sign anything was dragged away,” another added. “If it stayed to eat, there’d be a carcass.”
He was right, Tryss realized. So where had the yern gone?
Sreil stepped forward and examined the ground thoughtfully. “But something big did lie here not long ago.”
“Having a nap, probably,” someone said. There was a snigger from a few of the watchers.
“So, Tryss,” Ziss said, “did you find a sleeping yern and think you could convince us you’d killed it?”
Tryss glanced at his cousin, then at the amused faces of the Siyee around him. His face burned.
“No.”
“I’ve got things to do,” someone said. The Siyee be
gan to move away. The air hummed with the sound of their wings. Tryss kept his eyes on the ground. He heard footsteps approach, then felt a pat on his shoulder. Looking up, he found Sreil standing beside him, holding out the spike that had struck the yern.
“Good try,” he said. Tryss winced. He took the spike from Sreil, then watched as the older boy sprinted into the open and leapt into the air.
“You used florrim, didn’t you?”
Tryss started. He hadn’t realized Drilli was still there.
“Yes.”
She looked at the spike. “It’s got to take a lot more florrim to put a big animal to sleep than a person, and that wouldn’t have got far through a yern hide. Maybe you should try something stronger, or deadlier. Or make sure it can’t wake up again after it falls asleep.” She patted the sheathed knife buckled to her thigh meaningfully.
She has a point, he thought.
Drilli grinned, then turned away. As she leapt into the sky, Tryss watched her in admiration.
Sometimes he wondered how he could be so stupid.
2
Auraya sat before the polished silver mirror, but she did not see her reflection. Instead she was captivated by a recent memory.
In her mind she could see thousands of white-garbed men and women congregated before the Dome. She remembered how she had never seen so many priests and priestesses gathered in one place. They had travelled to the Temple from all the lands of Northern Ithania in order to attend the Choosing Ceremony. Every priest and priestess living in the Five Houses had been sharing their rooms with those from outside the city and country.
She had glimpsed the size of the crowd as she had left the Tower, walking with her fellow high priests and priestesses to the Dome. Beyond the sea of white figures there had been an even larger crowd of ordinary men, women and children come to witness the event.
Only high priests and priestesses had been candidates for the last position among the Gods’ Chosen. Auraya had been one of the youngest of these. Some had said she had ascended the ranks only because of her strong Gifts. Her stomach still tensed with anger at the memory.
It is unfair of them. They know it took me ten years of hard work and dedication to reach the position so quickly.
What did they think now that she was one of the White? Did they regret their judgment of her? She felt a mingled sympathy and triumph. They were victims of their own ambition. If they thought the gods would pay attention to their lies they were fools. Instead it probably proved they were unworthy. A White shouldn’t have a habit of spreading untrue gossip.
Returning to her memory, she replayed the walk from the Tower to the Dome in her mind. The high priests and priestesses had formed a ring around the dais inside. The Altar, the most sacred place in the Temple, stood at the center. It was a large five-sided structure three times as high as a man, each wall a tall triangle that sloped inward to meet its fellows. On occasions when the White entered it, the five walls hinged outward until they rested on the floor, revealing a table and five chairs within. When the White wished to converse in private the walls folded upward to enclose them in a room from which no sound could escape.
The Altar had folded open like a flower as the four White climbed the steps of the dais and turned to face the crowd. Auraya closed her eyes and tried to recall Juran’s exact words.
“Chaia, Huan, Lore, Yranna, Saru. We invite you, our divine guardians and guides, to meet with us today, for the time has come for you to choose your fifth and last representative. Here stand those who have proven themselves your worthy, capable and devoted followers: our high priests and priestesses. Each is ready and willing to dedicate their life to you.”
The air had seemed to shimmer briefly. Auraya shivered as she remembered. Five figures had appeared on the dais, each a being of light, each a translucent illusion of humanity. A low sound had risen from the watching priests and priestesses. She had heard faint shouts of “The gods have appeared!” in the distance.
And what a sight they were, she thought, smiling.
The gods existed in the magic that imbued all the world, in every rock, every drop of water, every plant, every animal, every man, woman and child, in all matter, unseen and unfelt unless they wished to influence the world. When they chose to reveal themselves they did so by changing magic into light and shaping it into exquisitely beautiful human forms.
Chaia had been tall and dressed like a statesman. His face was noble and handsome, like a kingly figure chiselled from polished marble. His hair had moved as if stirred by an affectionate wind. And his eyes…Auraya sighed. His eyes were so clear and unbearably direct, but also somehow warm and…affectionate. He really does love us all.
Huan, in contrast, had been intimidating and stern in appearance—beautiful but fierce. With her arms crossed over her chest she had radiated power. She had swept her eyes over the crowd as if looking for something to punish.
Lore’s stance had been casual, though his build was heavier than the rest of the gods. He wore glittering armor. Before the War of the Gods he had been worshipped by soldiers.
Yranna had been all smiles, Auraya recalled. Her beauty was more feminine and youthful than Huan’s. She was a favorite among the younger priestesses, still a champion of women, though she had put aside the role of goddess of love when joining the other gods.
The last god Auraya had noticed was Saru, a favorite of merchants. It was said he had once been the god of thieves and gamblers, but Auraya was not sure it was true. He had taken on the slimmer physique fashionable among courtiers and intellectuals.
At the gods’ appearance all had prostrated themselves. Auraya could still remember the smoothness of the stone floor against her forehead and palms. Silence had followed, then a deep, melodious voice filled the Dome.
“Rise, people of Ithania,” a beautiful voice said.
As she had climbed to her feet with the rest of the crowd, Auraya had been trembling with awe and excitement. She hadn’t felt so overwhelmed since she had first arrived at the Temple ten years before. It had been strangely delightful to feel so inspired again. After so many years living in the Temple, little about it stirred such exhilaration anymore.
The voice spoke again and she realized it belonged to Chaia.
“A few short centuries ago gods fought gods and men fought men, and much grief and ruin was caused. We five were saddened by this and undertook a great task. We would make order from the chaos. We would bring peace and prosperity to the world. We would release humankind from cruelty, slavery and deceit.
“So we fought a great battle and reshaped the world. But we cannot shape the hearts of men and women. We can only advise you and give you strength. In order to help you, we have selected representatives from among you. Their duty it is to protect you and be your link to us, your gods. Today we will choose our fifth representative from those you have deemed most worthy for this responsibility. To the one we choose we bestow immortality and great strength. When our gift is accepted, another stage of our great task will be completed.”
He had paused then. Auraya had expected a longer speech. A silence had filled the hall so complete that she had been sure every man and woman was holding their breath. I was holding mine, she remembered.
Then came the moment she would never forget.
“We offer this gift to High Priestess Auraya, of the family Dyer,” Chaia had said, turning to face her. “Come forward, Auraya of the White.”
Auraya took a deep, shuddering breath as joy swept over her again. At the time it had been tempered by sheer terror. She’d had to approach a god. She’d been the focus of attention—and probably jealousy—of several thousand people.
Now it was tempered by the reality of her future. From the moment she had been chosen she’d barely had a moment to herself. Her days were filled with meetings with rulers and other important people—and the difficulties had ranged from language barriers to avoiding making promises the other White were not yet ready to make. The only time she was
left alone was late at night, when she was supposed to sleep. Every night so far she had lain awake, trying to sort through all that had happened to her. Tonight she had paced her room, finally sitting down in front of the mirror.
It’s a wonder I don’t look like a wreck, she thought, making herself regard her reflection again. I shouldn’t look this good. Is this another of the gods’ Gifts?
She looked down at her hand. The white ring on her middle finger almost seemed to glow. Through it the gods gave her the Gift of immortality and somehow enhanced her own Gifts. They had made her one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world.
In return she gave her will and her now never-ending life to their service. They were magical beings. To affect the physical world they must work through humans. Most of the time this was through instruction, but if a human gave up their will the gods could take over their body. The latter was rare, as it could, if maintained too long, affect the owner’s mind. Sometimes their sense of identity was confused, and they continued believing they were the god. Sometimes they simply forgot who they were.
Best not think about that, she thought. The gods wouldn’t wreck the mind of one of their Chosen anyway. Unless they wanted to punish them…
She found herself looking at an old trunk that stood against one wall. The servants had obeyed her instruction to leave it unopened, and so far she hadn’t had the time or courage to open it herself. Inside were the few belongings she owned. She couldn’t imagine the quaint, cheap trinkets she had bought over the years looking anything more than tacky in the austere rooms of a White, but she didn’t want to throw them away. They reminded her of times in her life and people she loved or wanted to remember: her parents, friends in the priesthood, and her first lover—how long ago that seemed now!
At the base of the trunk was something more dangerous. There, in a secret compartment, were several letters she ought to destroy.
Like the trinkets, she didn’t want to. However, unlike the trinkets, the letters might now cause a scandal if they were discovered. Now that I have some time to myself, I may as well deal with them. Rising, she moved to the trunk and kneeled in front of it. The latch clicked open and the lid creaked as she lifted it. Just as she had suspected, everything within it looked too rustic and humble. The little pottery vase her first lover—a young priest—had given her looked artless. The blanket, a gift from her mother, was warm but looked dull and old. She took these out, uncovering a large white circle of cloth—her old priestess’s circ.