Angel of Storms Read online

  She reconstructed the block as slowly the second time, yet more easily. The awareness of her mind being open and vulnerable was uncomfortable, now that she had it. Keeping it shielded and protected became her preferred state, even if the concentration it took was tiring.

  Nobody likes having to moderate what they think all the time, she mused. Though there are still plenty of events in my past I’d rather not think of.

  “You’ve picked that up quickly,” he said. “Which gives us time to try something else.” As he took her hands she swallowed an objection. “Draw in air and magic.”

  She sighed, did as he instructed and felt them leave the world again. He turned and looked towards the faint shape of the building.

  “Instead of trying to resist the gravity, try moving us towards the house.”

  Rielle looked at the distant building. He had given her no clue on how to do what he asked. Perhaps instinct would help again. I want to be there. I want there to be closer. Then Baluka’s hands slipped from her own. Turning back, she saw him smile and beckon. Panic flooded her mind. No! Don’t leave me here! She reached out towards him, but her hand did not meet anything, passing though his body. Even though he was next to her, he was elsewhere.

  Something loomed in the brightness. Baluka abruptly grew more distinct. His hands gripped hers.

  “Time to go.”

  At once the valley began to rush past. They hurtled towards the house at a frightening speed, but no rushing air buffeted her and as they came to an abrupt halt in the courtyard there was no jolt. People were emerging from the house. Baluka moved them closer to a man who stopped to gaze at the road leading to the Travellers’ arrival area. Slim and dark-skinned with long straight hair, he wore the most extraordinary clothing Rielle had ever seen. Sleeves of soft white cloth burst from a tightly buttoned vest. His trousers were equally tight to below the knee, and soft white cloth ballooned out again before disappearing in a pair of broadly cuffed boots.

  The man glanced at them, then turned and squinted. As air surrounded Rielle again he smiled, stepped forward and bowed from the waist.

  “Traveller Baluka. Welcome back,” he said in the Travellers’ language. “I was wondering when you’d come down to join us, but now I see you were waiting for the rest of your family to arrive.”

  Baluka smiled. “Lord Felomar, it is an honour to visit you and your beautiful home again.” He bowed in reply. “You are correct. I am not surprised you spotted me training our guest. Nothing escapes your attention on your property and your country, and possibly this entire world, if not all the worlds.” He turned to Rielle. Bow as I did but with your hands pressed to your chest. “May I introduce Rielle Lazuli, our guest.”

  “A pleasure.” As the lord bowed again she did as Baluka had instructed.

  “Looks like Father finished our business in Kezel faster than we expected,” Baluka said. Following his gaze, Rielle saw a line of wagons descending towards the house. “I apologise if our early arrival upsets your plans.”

  “Not at all,” Felomar replied. “Do you intend to leave early as well?”

  “Not unless you need us to.”

  “No, you are welcome to stay as long as you wish. We shall have plenty of time to enjoy each other’s company.” The lord clasped his hands together. His fingers were long and elegant, Rielle noted. His face was narrow and finely boned. He was quite beautiful, yet with a warmth that was appealing. She had a sudden wistful desire to draw him.

  He glanced at her and she read a subtle warning in his expression that she remembered well from her time among the high families of Fyre. Don’t get ideas above your status, that expression said, though Lord Felomar included a hint of a smile that added but we can be friends.

  She looked away, embarrassed that he’d misread her interest and hoping she had not spoiled her chances of finding a home here, however temporary.

  CHAPTER 9

  “So do you eat sumptuous feasts every night?” Rielle asked Baluka.

  He chuckled, then chewed quickly and swallowed. “No, not every night. Not every customer we trade with can afford it, or has a custom of feeding guests–and some expect us to hold a feast for them. We visit some worlds for their markets, where we are not guests but just another trader. Sometimes we meet and trade with other Travellers, and though we share meals they are rarely extravagant.”

  She glanced up as the men who attended the table took away their plates and another set a new dish in front of them.

  “Ooh! Syrup and belnuts!” Baluka exclaimed appreciatively.

  Rielle waited until the men had left the room, closing the gilded doors behind them. “At least the servants are well treated here.”

  He nodded. “Not all lords of Diama are good to their people, but most do look after their servants. Everyone is paid, unlike the serfs of Kezel. But even the serfs have a better life than some people do in other worlds. They are free to marry who they please, raise a family, leave and settle elsewhere if they wish.”

  “There are places where people can’t?”

  He frowned. “Did slavery never exist in your world?”

  Rielle shivered. “It must have, I guess, since the Angels saw a need to forbid it.”

  Baluka nodded, his mouth pressed in a thin line. “It exists in many worlds, including some we trade in. If your Angels’ reach was greater than your own world much pain and injustice would be ended.”

  “The Travellers are all-powerful sorcerers. Can’t you do anything to stop it?”

  He grimaced. “That’s a question we’ve asked ourselves many times, over hundreds, maybe thousands of cycles. Traveller law forbids meddling in politics. A few Travellers have left their families in order to try–sometimes whole families have burned their wagons and put their future and fortune into improving or rescuing a people they have sympathised with. But even the plight of the serfs in Kezel is too difficult for a few outsiders to fix, nor would the attempt be welcome.”

  “It takes more than magic to change a world,” a voice said at Rielle’s other side. She turned to see Ankari watching her.

  Rielle frowned. “If you do not agree with slavery, why do you trade in those places?”

  “We follow a set route, passed down through the generations,” Baluka replied. “Any change to that involves great risks, some of which I have told you about already. Our path takes us to strong worlds containing enough magic for us to leave again, cycle after cycle. Of course, the people we trade with must want the goods we are selling and have something of equal value to sell. It is better if they want what we have recently acquired, as we have limited room in our wagons. The best arrangement is one where we sell what we buy in one world to someone in the next world. Small, non-perishable goods are preferable, too, as well as goods that don’t transfer disease and vermin between worlds. We don’t want to come back after a cycle to find we’re to blame for a plague or the failure of crops–especially if those crops are what we need to buy. So once we have a route established we need a strong reason to change it.”

  “And we can be a good influence on the people we trade with,” Ankari added. “We bring ideas as well as wares. We tell stories of places where people thrive without resorting to slavery, oppressive laws and war.”

  “Has this family ever managed to change a place for the better?”

  Baluka shrugged. “We have, but not as often as we would like to. It takes a lot of effort to change people. Sometimes very little, but mostly a great deal of work done over many cycles.”

  “Nobody can fix all the problems in the universe,” Ankari added. “Not even…” She frowned. “Not the Travellers.”

  “You have magic, Rielle,” Baluka pointed out. “You could help people if you learned to use it.”

  She began to shake her head, then stopped. How could she expect the Travellers to do something she wouldn’t consider doing herself? Would the Angels approve of me learning magic if I did something good with it? As she considered that, with Baluka and Ankari
watching her silently, she heard Lejikh speak her name. She turned to see him talking with Lord Felomar.

  “… two worlds back, lost in a desert. A sorcerer persuaded her to leave her world with the promise that she would become a valued artisan in his, but left her in the care of a friend, who then abandoned her in an unpopulated, desert world.”

  As Rielle frowned at the inaccuracy of his explanation Baluka glanced at her. Such beings as Angels aren’t known here, he told her. The people of Diama are kind and the society is just, but they have their own religion and anything contradicting their beliefs makes them uncomfortable, defensive and sometimes even–

  “If she is to return to her world she will need training in magic,” Lejikh continued. “We hoped you could assist her.”

  Felomar looked across the enormous dining table at Rielle, his expression sympathetic.

  “You cannot take her yourself?” the lord asked Lejikh.

  “No. Her world is poor in magic. I sent Baluka here ahead of us to begin teaching her.” Lejikh looked at his son. “How did it go?”

  Baluka winced. “Not as well as I hoped.” His mind filled with the details, communicating them to his father. “Not all bad, though,” he added, remembering about how strong she had proven to be, and how quick to hide her thoughts.

  Lejikh turned back to Felomar. “Is there anyone in this world who could continue her training after we have left?”

  Felomar pursed his lips. “I know of a few with the knowledge, but not how willing they are to share it.” His gaze shifted to Rielle again. “There may be a price. Are you willing to pay it?”

  She glanced at Baluka. “I have no money…”

  The lord smiled. “The price would not be financial; more likely you would work in exchange for training. As to the nature of that work… well, it would need to be acceptable to you. But do not worry, I am a formidable negotiator. I will see that an arrangement is made that suits both parties. However, the more you know of magic, the better situated you…” He paused, his brows lowered and his regard shifted to Lejikh again. “Do your people no longer feel bound to the ancient agreement that you will not teach world-travelling, or is this a choice only you and your family have made?”

  Lejikh’s eyebrows rose. “Why do you ask?”

  Felomar leaned his elbows on the table and lowered his voice. “I have heard, and this time from a reliable source, that the Raen has returned.”

  The silence that followed was unlike any natural pause in conversation. Rielle’s senses sharpened and she resisted the temptation to seek the minds around her. Lejikh was calmly returning Felomar’s stare. Ankari looked from one to the other, her eyes narrowed. Baluka had frozen, his spoon before his mouth. Felomar’s eyes gleamed with amusement, but his mouth was set in a grim line.

  Whatever this means, it is potentially bad news for the Travellers, she guessed.

  Lejikh looked down at his bowl, the contents undisturbed. “Reliable, you say?”

  “Yes. I received a message this morning from my cousin, who is not prone to boast or lie, reporting an encounter between the Prince of Liema and the Raen that many were witnesses to.” Felomar’s eyebrows rose. “In this very world. A few days ago.”

  Lejikh picked up his spoon. “We have heard nothing of his return.”

  Felomar leaned back in his chair and nodded. “There have been numerous false sightings over the last, what is it? Twenty years since he disappeared. Many thought him dead and made changes he will not like.

  “Those who were too young to remember him, or were born after he disappeared, are now adults. They will not understand the danger they are in if he is, indeed, back among the worlds, and will resent a return of the old laws.”

  Baluka was listening with such attention his thoughts were mostly fragmented and wordless. The Raen! Here! A few days ago. So close. Fear and excitement radiated from him. Father encountered him once. Must get him to tell that story again…

  Rielle could not stand it any longer. She leaned closer to him.

  “Who is this Raen?”

  His gaze snapped to hers, the intensity in his eyes faltering as he considered how to tell her without frightening her needlessly. “A sorcerer. The strongest that ever existed–stronger than all others together, it is said. He can move through the worlds like… as easy as walking, one step in each. In some worlds he is worshipped as a benevolent god. In others he is the human manifestation of evil. He has lived for a thousand cycles, and he cannot die.”

  “He can die,” Felomar corrected. “Or so the wisest have said and written. I have a collection of books on the subject.”

  Baluka smiled. “As do many fine libraries, though none are as extensive and full of treasures as yours. Did the Raen say where he had been, while visiting the prince?”

  Felomar shook his head. “No. I was rather hoping your family would provide more information.” He looked at Lejikh again. “I fear my favourite explanation, that he had travelled to the edges of the populated worlds, found himself in a dead world and been trapped there, cannot be true.”

  Lejikh shrugged. “I doubt we will ever find out the truth, and discussing it will make no difference.”

  Felomar’s eyebrows rose, and Rielle sensed Baluka’s surprise. His father had always enjoyed debating the mystery with the lord.

  “And the note left by one of the rebels?” Baluka asked, to keep the discussion going. “That told of his intention to lure the Raen into a dead world?”

  “If he did manage to keep ahead of the Raen long enough to reach one, he can’t have chosen a truly dead world,” Felomar answered. “If it was populated, the occupants would eventually generate enough magic for him to leave again. Though perhaps not before he died of old age.”

  Baluka nodded. “Perhaps it only took twenty cycles. And when he left he’d have had to…” He stopped, his eyes widening, and looked at his parents. Ankari made a small gesture.

  His mind snapped into silence. Rielle reeled as she found herself isolated and unable to understand what Lejikh was saying to the lord now. Baluka leaned closer, his expression apologetic.

  “Do not worry,” he said haltingly in Fyrian. “I must…”–he pointed to his head–“think.”

  Whatever Lejikh was saying it was clear from his manner and Felomar’s that the conversation and meal were now coming to an end. The lord rose from his chair and as the Travellers followed suit Rielle joined them. Felomar ushered them out of the room. In the wide hallway beyond, servants came forward. One bowed to Lejikh and Ankari, and led them away. Another approached Baluka. As the young Traveller began to follow he looked over his shoulder.

  “I will see you… tomorrow,” he said, then smiled and spoke to a young woman who had bowed to Rielle. The girl nodded, then gestured to indicate that Rielle should follow.

  As Rielle did she told herself she was only feeling abandoned because she had grown used to having access to Baluka’s mind. But it’s suddenly obvious that it’s only being able to understand what the Travellers are saying that makes me feel like I’m one of them.

  But she wasn’t one of them. She was an outsider. Maybe it was good to be reminded of that, especially when they would be leaving her behind soon.

  In the meantime she had better do what Lord Felomar had advised–learn the basics of using magic so she could be useful to a teacher, unless some way could be found for her to exchange her skills as an artist and tapestry weaver instead.

  Sighing, she rubbed her temples. The future was an empty void containing dangers she could not predict or understand. But it also held opportunities. Both demanded she learn a great deal, and as quickly as possible. To learn magic. She felt only a mild resistance to the idea. Baluka’s reasoning had all but convinced her of the necessity.

  The servant stopped at a door and opened it. Looking around, Rielle realised she had barely seen her surroundings while lost in thought. They were standing in a long corridor. Carved doors were spaced along equally decorative walls, and the ceil
ing was tiled in what looked like perforated sheets of silver, polished to a mirror gloss. Landscapes hung on the walls. Lord Felomar’s dining room had been even more lavishly decorated and hung with bright, intriguingly realistic paintings of exotic foods. She shook her head. Though her future might now seem harshly real, her surroundings were still impossible and dreamlike.

  “Travellers,” the servant said, gesturing at the other doors. No doubt she thought Rielle’s hesitation was unease at her separation from the family.

  Nodding, Rielle walked past the young woman into the room. It was even more spectacular than the hallway. A frame had been built around the bed, decked with shimmering fabrics. More paintings, this time of women with tiny heads in huge, billowing dresses, were framed in gold. The servant followed Rielle in, then gestured to another doorway. Peering through, Rielle saw a deep tub built into a recess of the far wall, covered in an intricate pattern of tiles.

  The servant worked a lever and steaming water began to pour into the tub. She indicated bottles on a shelf nearby, then a generous length of thick, absorbent cloth. Rielle nodded to show she understood, and the servant bowed again and left.

  She didn’t need a bath, but she had no idea what local ideas of cleanliness were. If someone invited her to bathe she had to assume it was because they expected her to. Stripping off, she examined the bottles, finding them full of scented oils. She chose one, poured a little in the water, then climbed in.

  What am I meant to do next? she wondered. Sleep?

  She had no idea what time it was in her home world. Turning the lever until the water stopped, she lay back and tried to calculate. She’d left Schpeta in the evening and arrived at dusk in the desert world. From there she struggled to recall details. Had she walked for a day or two?

  When the Travellers had left that world it had been night, but they’d arrived in late afternoon in Kezel. It had made for a long evening. The next morning she and Baluka had left for Diama, arriving in what had turned out to be the late morning, shortening the day.