Trudi Canavan - Priestess of the White

Dyara’s circ flared as she turned on her heel and strode to the door. Auraya followed. The cage was waiting for them. As they descended Auraya considered the “scouts’ Dyara had spoken of. She was disturbed by the news that strangers were watching her, but wondered if they truly had done so voluntarily. What was worse: that they had spied on her out of their own initiative, or that someone had asked them to?

Are my fellow White keeping an eye on me? If I arrange to meet Leiard again, will they try to discourage me? Should I let them? As the cage settled at the bottom of the stairwell, Auraya followed Dyara out. The gods chose me. They knew everything about me, including my friendship with Leiard and sympathy for Dreamweavers. If they hadn’t approved, they would have chosen someone else .

Or would they? Perhaps they tolerated that one aspect of her character in order to make use of others. However, until they told her not to, she would continue associating with Dreamweavers.

She shivered. When the news of her mother’s death had arrived she had feared the gods were making a point—that they were making it clear they disapproved of her use of a Dreamweaver’s services by killing her mother.

Ridiculous, she thought. The gods don’t work that way. When they want something, they tell you . Despite knowing this, she hadn’t been able to shake the fear until Leiard had assured her that her mother’s illness had been the cause of her death.

The air outside the Tower was warm and the sun’s heat promised a hot day to come. Dyara’s pace quickened. They reached the Dome, entered it and strode toward the dais and Altar at the center.

The other three White were waiting for them, seated at a circular table. Auraya felt her pulse racing as she drew closer, and memories of the Choosing Ceremony flashed through her mind. She followed Dyara onto the Altar.

“Welcome, Auraya,” Juran said warmly.

She smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Juran.”

As Dyara slipped into a seat, Auraya took the remaining chair. The five sides of the Altar began to move, hinging upward until their triangular points met. The walls glowed with a diffuse light.

Auraya glanced at the other White. Rian sat straight in his chair, but his gaze was distant. Even when he looked at Auraya, and acknowledged her with a nod, he seemed distracted. Mairae looked exactly as she had ten years before when she had come to Oralyn to negotiate with the Dunwayans. This evidence of the White’s immortality sent a shiver down Auraya’s spine. One day, she thought, someone will look at me and marvel at this sign of the gods’ powers .

Meeting Auraya’s gaze, Mairae smiled, then turned to look at Juran. The leader of the White had closed his eyes.

“Chaia, Huan, Lore, Yranna, Saru. Once again, we thank you for the peace and prosperity you have brought. We thank you for the opportunity to serve you. We thank you for the powers you have given us, that allow us to guide and help the men and women, old and young, of this world.”

“We thank you,” the others murmured. Auraya joined them, having been taught the ritual by Dyara.

“Today we will use the best of our wisdom in your service, but should we err in our judgment or work contrary to your great plans we ask you to speak to us and make your wishes known.”

“Guide us,” Auraya recited along with the others.

Juran opened his eyes and looked around the table.

“The gods have made it known to us that they wish for all of Northern Ithania to be united,” he said, looking at Auraya. “Not by war or conquest, but through a peaceful alliance. They wish for all the lands to choose and negotiate the terms of their alliance with us. Those lands that are not predominantly Circlian are more likely to ally with us for reasons of politics and trade rather than obedience to the gods. Peoples like the Siyee and Elai, who are suspicious of landwalkers, need to learn to trust us. Those peoples who are predominantly Circlian would obey an order from the gods, but if they felt an alliance was not fair or beneficial they would cause trouble for other lands.”

Juran looked at Dyara. “Let us discuss those allies we already have. Dyara?”

Dyara sighed and rolled her eyes. “The Arrins of Genria and the King of Toren are still antagonizing each other. Every time one of the Arrin families produces a son— which they seem to be doing every few months—Berro puts restrictions on imports from Genria. The royal high priest reminds him of the terms of the alliance, but it always takes several weeks for the restrictions to be lifted.”

“And the Genrians? How are they taking this?”

“With gritted teeth.” Dyara smiled. “It’s hardly their fault that Berro hasn’t produced a male. So far there have been remarkably few retaliatory moves. Every family with a boy is anxious to avoid offending the gods. Evidence, perhaps, that they have realized that Guire chose Laern as his successor because he was the only prince who hadn’t tried to murder another. But someone is making sure Berro hears promptly of the birth of every Arrin male.”

“Sounds like that someone ought to be found,” Juran said.

“Yes. The royal high priest is also encouraging Berro to adopt an heir, even if it is a temporary arrangement until he sires one. That might settle him down for now.”

Juran nodded, then turned to Mairae. “What of the Somreyans?”

Mairae grimaced. “They turned us down again.”

He frowned. “What was their reason this time?”

“A minor detail of the alliance terms. One member of the council protested against it, and others supported her.”

“It’s a wonder their country doesn’t fall apart,” Dyara said darkly. “Their council never agrees on anything. What was it this time?”

“The restriction that their Dreamweavers must only treat their own soldiers.”

“And this council member who protested is the Dreamweaver representative?”

Mairae nodded. “Yes. Dreamweaver Elder Arleej.” Auraya knew that this Dreamweaver elder was not only a member of the Council of Elders in Somrey, but the leader of the Dreamweavers. “I was surprised that others supported her. It is a minor point, and most of the council are keen to see this alliance signed. Keen enough to overlook something like this.”

“We knew Somrey would be difficult,” Rian said. “We can’t please every member of the council. Doing so would mean making too many compromises. I say we stand firm on this.”

Juran frowned and shook his head. “I don’t understand. We haven’t asked them to change any of their ways. Why can’t they do the same for us?”

The others shrugged or spread their hands helplessly. Juran looked at each, then his gaze settled on Auraya and his expression became thoughtful.

“You knew a Dreamweaver during your early years, didn’t you, Auraya?”

His question was not accusatory, or even disapproving. She nodded slowly, aware that Dyara was watching her closely.

“You probably have a better understanding of their ways than the rest of us. Can you explain why they’re resisting this term of the alliance?”

Auraya glanced around the table, then straightened.

“All Dreamweavers make an oath to heal any person who needs and wants it.”

Juran’s eyebrows rose. “So this term of the alliance requires Dreamweavers to break their oath. The council doesn’t want to force them, so they refuse to sign the treaty.” He looked at Dyara. “Does Auraya have time to read the proposed treaty?”

Dyara’s shoulders lifted. “I can make time for it in her schedule.”

Juran smiled. “I look forward to hearing any suggestions you have, Auraya.” She smiled back, but he had already turned away. “Rian. What of Dunway?”