Trudi Canavan - Priestess of the White

She nodded. “I understand. Another day, then. When you’re finished.” She sat down beside the harness. “Mind if I watch you work?”

“I suppose. If you want.” He dropped into a crouch and, conscious of her attention on him, rummaged in his pockets for more gut strings. She watched silently, and soon he began to feel uncomfortable.

“How long have your people been using blowpipes?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Years. My grandfather came up with the idea. He said we have to go backward instead of forward. Rather than trying to find a way to use swords and bows like the landwalkers, we should go back to simpler weapons.” She sighed. “It didn’t help, though. The landwalkers still drove us out of our village. We got a few with poisoned darts and traps, but there were too many.”

Tryss glanced at her sideways. “Do you think it would have turned out differently if you had been able to attack them from the air?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe; maybe not.” She looked at the harness. “Don’t know until we try. Are you . . . are you going to the Gathering tonight?”

Tryss shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“I’ve heard a landwalker arrived last night. Climbed over the mountains to get here. He’ll be at the Gathering.”

“They didn’t kill him?” Tryss asked, surprised.

“No. He’s not one of the people taking our land. He’s from far away.”

“What does he want?”

“Not sure exactly, but my father said something about this man being sent by the gods. To ask us to join something. If we do, other landwalkers might help us get rid of the ones taking our lands.”

“If they can do that, then they can take our lands themselves,” Tryss pointed out.

Drilli frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that. But the gods sent him. Surely Huan wouldn’t allow that if it meant we’d all be killed.”

“Who knows what the goddess intended?” Tryss said dryly. “Maybe she’s realized making us was a mistake, and this is a way to get rid of us.”

“Tryss!” Drilli said, shocked. “You shouldn’t speak of the goddess so.”

He smiled. “Perhaps not. But if she is watching, she will have heard me thinking that. And if she can hear me thinking that, then she can see that I don’t believe what I said.”

“Why say it then?”

“Because the possibility occurred to me, and I need to speak of it in order to realize I don’t believe it.”

Drilli stared at him, then shook her head. “You are a strange boy, Tryss.” She nodded at the harness. “Are you taking that to the Gathering tonight?”

“This? No. They’d laugh at me.”

“They might not.”

“I’ve shown people before. They think it’ll be impossible to fly with it, or that it will make flying clumsy and dangerous, and even if I prove them wrong they won’t believe it’s possible to hunt with one. And at the moment I’m not sure it’s going to work anyway. Two spikes don’t seem like enough. I’ve been trying to change it so it carries more, but . . . but . . . it’s complicated.”

“It looks it. But I’d give it a try. I wonder . . . could you make something that would allow me to use the blowpipe while flying?”

He looked at the pipe in her hands, then at the harness. She’d need some sort of frame to hold the pipe steady and a way to reload it with missiles. She could suck the missiles into the pipe from out of a bag. And the missiles were much smaller and lighter than spikes, so she could carry more . . . He sucked in a breath. But that was brilliant! As possibilities rushed through him, he felt his hands beginning to shake with excitement.

“Drilli,” he said.

“Mmm?”

“Can I . . . can I borrow that pipe?” Auraya watched, fascinated, as her new pet chased an imaginary spider up the wall. He was a veez—a small, slim creature with a pointy nose, fluffy prehensile tail and large eyes that gave him excellent night vision. His soft toes splayed out across the painted surface, somehow allowing him to cling effortlessly to the wall—and now the ceiling. Stopping just above her, he suddenly dropped onto her shoulder.

“No fug,” he said, then leapt onto a chair and curled up with his speckled gray fluffy tail across his nose.

“No bug,” Auraya agreed. The animal’s most remarkable trait was the ability to speak, though he talked only of the matters that concerned a small creature, like food and comfort. She doubted she’d have any enlightening philosophical discussions with him.

A knocking came from the door. “Come in,” she called.

Dyara stepped inside. “Auraya. How are you this morning?”

“Owaya,” a small voice repeated. Dyara’s gaze shifted to the veez. “Ah, I see the Somreyan Council of Elders have delivered their customary gift for a new White.”

Auraya nodded. “Yes. Along with an amazingly elaborate array of toys and instructions.”

“Have you named him yet?”

“No.”

The older woman moved to the chair and extended a finger toward the veez. He sniffed, then cocked his head to one side and allowed Dyara to scratch behind his tiny pointed ears.

“Once you’ve learned to link your mind with his you’ll find him useful. Just show him a mental picture of an object and he’ll fetch it for you. He can find people, too, though it’s easier if you give him something they’ve touched to catch a scent from.”

“The instructions said they make good scouts.”

Dyara smiled. “Scouts being the polite term for spies. When you link with his mind you’ll be able to see what he sees—and since their night vision is excellent and they can get into places humans can’t, they do make good, ahem, scouts.” The veez’s eyes were closed in bliss at her scratching. “But you’ll find you’ll appreciate them as much for their nature. They’re affectionate and loyal.” She stopped scratching and straightened. The veez’s eyes opened wide and he stared up at her intently.

“Scatch?”

She ignored him and turned to Auraya. “We’ll be—”

“Scatch!”

“Enough,” she told him firmly. He ducked his head like a chastised child. “They can also be a bit demanding at this age. Just be firm with him.” She moved away from the chair, then looked at Auraya sidelong, her expression unreadable. Not for the first time, Auraya wished she could read the other woman’s mind as easily as she could now read most people’s.

“You said last night that you had visited an old friend in the afternoon,” Dyara said. “There are more than a few ‘scouts’ in the city who are anxious to prove themselves and gain work from me, who take it upon themselves to report what they see. This morning one of them claims that this friend you visited is a Dreamweaver. Is this true?”

Auraya regarded Dyara carefully. What should she say? But she would not lie to one of the White. Nor would she pretend to feel guilty for visiting her old friend.

“Yes,” she replied. “He is Dreamweaver Leiard, from my home village. I haven’t seen him in ten years. He brought the message of my mother’s death to the Temple. I wanted to thank him for that.”

“I gather he will be returning to his home again now that the message is delivered.”

“Probably.” Auraya shrugged. “I doubt he’ll stay here long. I can’t imagine city life would suit him. He has always been a solitary type.”

Dyara nodded. “The others will be at the Altar by now. We should not keep them waiting.”

Auraya felt her stomach flutter with both anxiety and excitement. For the first time she would sit with the other four White as they discussed their duties and responsibilities. They might give her a task to perform. If they did, she expected it would be a minor responsibility. Even if they didn’t, it would be interesting to hear what worldly matters they were involved in.