The magic here flowed to the north because it was naturally inclined to even out, like water finding a level, and there was less magic in the north than in the south. Much less. No wonder the king thought it was worth risking the depletion of Tyeszal’s magic. The north was drawing it all away anyway. If Tyen succeeded he would be helping both the Empire and the Far South.
Tyen took a deep breath as renewed determination filled him. He considered the magic flowing around him. If he could draw it to himself, then could he do other things? Could he still it?
He drew on the magic he had taken and exerted his will. He felt a jolt. The magic did not stop moving, but its flow pulled at him and it was taking more magic to hold on. He grinned. This meant it was something he could orientate himself with. Something he could orientate himself with even though it wasn’t solid or still.
The room had brightened, he noticed. He looked down. His feet were slowly gliding across the floor, but there was no sensation of movement.
Was that supposed to happen? he wondered.
“Yes, it is,” a voice said. A woman’s voice.
Startled, he let go. At once the room stopped glowing. He sensed the moment he returned fully. It was as if his head had just broken through the surface of a pool of water into the air again.
He looked down at Vella. Words formed on the page.
Congratulations. You have travelled out of this world for the first time.
He grinned. I did it! But who spoke to me?
I did. In the place between worlds my connection to the mind of whoever holds me is different.
You could have warned me.
It wasn’t information relevant to what you need to know just now.
And I didn’t ask.
You couldn’t know to ask.
Will that always happen, when we are between worlds?
Yes.
Is it like reading minds?
No. The only advantage is to hear my voice. And this will be a disadvantage if it causes you to lose concentration. The worlds will pull you towards them if you do not resist them. But the further you are from a world the weaker the pull is. You are not breathing when you travel, though you are unaware of it. If you take too long you will suffocate.
Suffocate? You didn’t tell me this earlier!
You would have been too worried about it to concentrate. When you are only a little way out of this world a failure of concentration will bring you back to it quickly, so there was no danger.
So I should take a deep breath before leaving for another world?
Yes.
What happens to people who suffocate between worlds?
Their body is eventually pushed out into the nearest world.
Dead people materialising out of thin air? He shuddered as he remembered creepy stories he’d heard as a child. Perhaps they had held some truth. The more he found out about travelling between worlds, the more dangerous it appeared to be.
A tapping sound interrupted Tyen’s thoughts.
That could be Ysser, returning to take me to Kilraker. Is there anything else I need to know?
Nothing relevant.
He closed her and slipped her into his shirt, then put on his jacket and buttoned it. As he turned to the door his satchel caught his attention. Should he take it with him? What about Beetle? Maybe he should leave the insectoid behind, in case something happened. He was sure Mig would like to have it. But it had been taught to respond only to his instructions and he didn’t have time to fix that. Kilraker might decide to take it back to the Academy as proof Tyen had been dealt with so he could claim the reward, too.
The professors might think he was planning not to return from the other world if he looked ready to travel, so he opened the satchel and transferred Beetle to an inner pocket of his jacket. Then he hurried over to the door.
Mig was waiting outside again. The young man beckoned and hurried away. Tyen closed the door behind him and followed.
He wondered briefly if the king would be present, and decided it was unlikely. Nobody knew yet if this would work. Experiments with magic always had the potential to be dangerous. He was not surprised to find Ysser, Kilraker, Gowel and their two friends, but nobody else, waiting in the old man’s room. Ysser came forward to greet him.
“Ready?”
Tyen nodded. “I think I know what to do.”
“Good.” The sorcerer patted Tyen’s back. “Be safe. Only take magic and release magic outside Tyeszal’s walls.”
Tyen turned to Kilraker. The professor’s eyes narrowed. He was holding a piece of rope.
“Ironsmelter,” he said.
“Professor,” Tyen replied. “Or is that no longer correct?”
“I haven’t officially retired yet,” the man said.
Tyen forced a smile. “Well, maybe I should call you ‘Kilraker’ so you get used to it sooner.” The man’s knuckles tightened around the rope. “I hope you’re not planning to tie me up with that,” Tyen added.
“Tempting though that may be, it is not our intention. We were curious to see if you could carry one end of it through with you.”
Tyen shrugged. “I can see no harm in trying.”
He walked over to Kilraker. Looking into the man’s face, he searched for evidence of his thoughts. No guilt for having ruined Tyen’s life at the Academy? No hint of apology? Kilraker stared back coldly. At least there was nothing obviously sly in his expression either. He mostly looked impatient and cautious, as if Tyen was the one given to betraying other people’s trust.
Kilraker handed Tyen the end of the rope. Closing his fingers around it, Tyen took a few steps back.
“So,” he said. “You want me to travel to another world, or as far as needed to gather magic from it and bring it back here. Anything else you want me to try?”
“No,” Kilraker said. “Keep your mind on your task.”
Tyen looked at Gowel and the others. They shook their heads. He looked at Ysser.
“The flyers are inside?”
The old man smiled and nodded. Mig stood a step behind him, face alive with excitement.
No reason to wait. Time to see if I can get all the way to a new world.
Taking a deep breath, Tyen reached out beyond the spire. He reached as far as he could, then he drew in magic from the furthest distance inward, leaving a column of magic within Tyeszal’s walls. Though he was aware that he was gathering more magic than he ever had before it was no strain to hold it.
He took a deep breath and focused on the magic within the spire. Now that it was surrounded by a void it flowed gently outward in all directions. This made it a more stable thing to orientate himself with. He pushed.
Once more his surroundings grew brighter. The room slowly grew less distinct, as if a fog had spontaneously formed to fill it, or his eyes were losing the ability to see colour. As in a fog, sounds were softened and diminished, too. Looking down at his hands he saw that they were also fading out of sight. So was the rope.
Looking up again, he could see Kilraker’s hands clawing at the other end. The man’s fingers were moving through it. He remembered what Gowel had said: “A sorcerer cannot send other things through the barrier to the next world, he must go with them.” Clearly, whatever the sorcerer held came with them. Which was fortunate, or Tyen might arrive in the other world without clothing. Or Vella.
But there must be a limitation. Kilraker wasn’t being taken through, only the rope. The professor was scowling. He spoke, but his voice was too faint for Tyen to make out the words. The others shrugged. Kilraker’s expression hardened. Ysser’s eyes widened and he strode forward. He placed a hand on Kilraker’s arm and began speaking assertively.
What is Kilraker up to? Tyen wondered, slowing his push to watch.
Kilraker shook Ysser’s hand off roughly, unbalancing the old man. Mig caught the old sorcerer’s shoulders to steady him. Ysser’s shock turned to anger. He came forward again, his voice loud enough to penetrate to Tyen.
“N
o! Do not take from inside! You break our law!”
“It’s all or nothing,” Kilraker barked in reply. A faint ringing noise reached Tyen. Ysser’s eyes widened and he looked up at the ceiling. The old sorcerer turned back to Kilraker. His expression was pleading now, but Tyen could not hear what he said. He reached out to grab Kilraker’s shoulder but his hand passed through the man.
Tyen stopped pushing and felt himself drifting back. Kilraker had moved out of the world. Why? Was he following Tyen? Why was Ysser so angry and frightened?
Should I go back? Vella?
“If you do it may be a long time before the magic you’ve used is replaced,” she replied. The sound of her voice, so clear and human made his heart sing.
He had to go on. As he was propelling himself away again, he saw Kilraker suddenly stumble, reach out and grab Gowel. Since his hand didn’t pass through the adventurer, he must have returned to their world. Had he run out of magic?
The fading room abruptly brightened even further as a square of white appeared to one side. The doors to the balcony were open. Mig ran from the opening to the flying vehicle and climbed inside. His hand slapped the side and his mouth opened in a muffled shout. Ysser took a few steps towards Mig and paused to look back. He glared at Kilraker, raising a hand to point at the man, his mouth moving to words Tyen could not hear, though the tone was clearly accusatory. Then he turned and ran to the vehicle. As soon as he had climbed inside it slid forward and disappeared into the square of light.
Tyen stopped again, certain that Ysser would not have used the machine without good cause. Looking back at Kilraker and the others, he saw that they were staggering about, faces stretched with terror. Objects in the room were moving – swaying or toppling over. The whole scene was shaking.
What is happening?
“Perhaps an attack on the spire?” Vella said. “Sseltee has no powerful enemies, but someone may be exploiting Tyeszal’s sudden lack of magic.”
How would they know? A traitor had told them, perhaps. We have to go back and return the magic so they can defend the spire. He stopped resisting the pull of his world and began drifting back. Can I speed this up?
“Yes, you just …”
A low sound surrounded Tyen, loud enough to penetrate into the place between worlds. Something passed across his sight, turning all to grey. He sensed himself drawing near to his world.
Then the grey disappeared and a familiar view of a far-distant land opened before him.
This time not framed by a window or a door.
Silence followed. He looked down. A dark, roiling cloud billowed beneath him. Instinct made him lock himself in place.
Tyeszal was gone. There was nothing where he had stood moments before but air. Below it had been replaced by a great cloud of dust. He stared down at it, too shocked to think. Then a wave of horror rushed over him.
They’re gone. All the people … Why? What happened?
“I don’t know.”
He thought of the ringing sound Ysser had been so alarmed to hear. Had it been a warning? If so, then the occupants of Tyeszal might have known something bad was about to happen when it rang. But what?
Something Kilraker had done. He remembered Ysser’s words: “No! Do not take from inside! You break our law!” Kilraker must have taken magic from within the spire in an attempt to follow Tyen.
Kilraker was dead now. As was Gowel, and anyone who hadn’t managed to evacuate the spire. He could not imagine anybody having time to escape. Except for Ysser and Mig. And anyone else who owned one of the gliding aircarts. Looking around, he felt his heart lighten as he saw them, circling around the dust cloud as they descended. But far too few to account for all five hundred residents of the tower.
The dust cloud was clearing below, revealing a stump perhaps half the height of the former spire. Hollow, with the twisted fragments of staircases visible within. He could see ropes hanging down the outside, too. The bridges! Tyen looked up at the cliff. He could see the ropes hanging down where the bridges had once spanned the gap between cliff and spire. Tiny movements drew his eyes to long lines of people filling the narrow paths on the cliff face. People staring down, people huddled together, people covering their faces as if unable to face the sight below …
Tyen’s chest constricted. If only he hadn’t come here … but how could he have known what Kilraker would do? There was no undoing it. But perhaps, if he went back …
“You will fall.”
I could try to use magic to stop myself. But all the lessons about aircart safety told him otherwise. He’d have to orientate himself with the ground, and it was too far away.
What can I do?
“Move as quickly as possible to the next world before you suffocate,” Vella said. “You are running out of magic. The longer you stay here, the less likely you will have enough magic to reach another world.”
But all those people … I should help them.
“You cannot stay here, you cannot return, you can only try to reach the next world.”
She was right. He had to get out of the place between worlds before he suffocated. He had to hope he still had enough magic to reach the next world, and that the world he reached was rich in magic so he would be able to gather enough to return.
Closing his eyes, he propelled himself away from the scene of devastation and towards the unknown.
PART TEN
RIELLE
CHAPTER 22
Rielle had thought the long days of walking in the desert had been tiring, but they were easy compared to the relentless upward climb into the mountains. She had noted that Sa-Mica had slowed and lengthened his strides and she found by copying him, concentrating on one deliberate step after another, it made the ascent a little easier. Sa-Gest kept pausing to catch his breath, then hurrying after them, or was so distracted by the scenery that he tripped on rocks that had fallen onto the road from the slopes above.
Whenever they rested, Rielle looked down at the desert in awe. She had never seen the world from above like this before. The road wound back to the village like a pale ribbon, then vanished into the sands. The dunes were not randomly scattered across the desert, but formed crescent-like curves all facing the same way. She itched to capture it in paint. In her mind she saw the colours she’d mix to make the right hues and shades.
By the end of the first day they’d climbed above the level of the hills. A steep drop now always fell from their right and a rock wall rose on their left. As dusk saw them still walking, Rielle had wondered if they would camp on the road or keep walking through the night.
Just as the last glow of the sun had faded they’d rounded a bend and come upon a small house built against the rock wall. It had looked too narrow to contain more than a corridor’s space within, but when Sa-Mica had lit his lamp and led them inside they’d found extra depth had been carved out of the rock. The room was large enough to fit two narrow beds with a space between. At the back a small spring dribbled down the wall into a basin, then overflowed into a hole in the floor.
The priests had slept on the beds. Sa-Mica had given her all three sleeping mats to lie on, so the floor wasn’t as uncomfortable as the brick bench had been the night before. Even so, the next morning she was as stiff and sore as she had been the first morning after leaving Fyre. Her legs were unused to walking uphill.
They’d risen early but walked slowly. Eventually Rielle’s muscles had loosened and she began to walk more easily, but a gloom settled upon her and refused to lift. They were out of the desert, but it would be no easier to survive here than out in the sands if she managed to escape.
The thought of getting away was now a constant hum in the back of her mind. With Sa-Gest always there, strengthening her conviction that, while she deserved punishment, nobody deserved to be subjected to his depraved manipulations for the rest of their life. She had grown more and more convinced that the Angels could never have meant it to be this way. If they had, then she did not want to meet them in the afterlif
e. She would rather not exist at all.
As the morning wore on, the road took them along the left side of a steep valley between the arms of two peaks. She caught glimpses of buildings at the end of the valley. The sight sent a chill through her, and a growing panic. Was this the end of their journey? Would she never get an opportunity to try for freedom? If not then what could she do? Hope that what Sa-Gest had hinted at was a lie to frighten her into obeying him? Then why won’t Sa-Mica tell me anything?
It wasn’t until they were almost upon them that she realised the buildings could not be their destination. The structures were houses, their doors and windows open and people walking freely in, out and around them. None of these people were priests. It was just another village.
She braced herself as the first of the locals saw them coming, but instead of staring and cursing they simply continued with their business. A few nodded to Sa-Mica as he passed them. Their lack of concern ought to have been a relief, but Rielle suspected it meant they were nearing the prison. Why else would the locals be so familiar with the sight of a tainted that they could ignore one?
It was more of a hamlet than a village, too. Nine houses faced the high side of the road. The largest was in the middle, with a low wall extending from the front to encompass wooden benches and tables, and heavy wooden beams supporting a sheltering roof. The tables were empty. To Rielle’s surprise, Sa-Mica led them through the gap in the wall and sat down at one of them.
A stocky man immediately emerged from the building. Dressed in warm clothes covered with a leather apron, he looked like a metalworker. He glanced at her, gave Sa-Gest a longer look, then smiled at Sa-Mica.
“Welcome back, Sa-Mica,” he said. “Heading to the mountain?”
“We are, Breca,” the scarred priest said. “We’ll have the usual.”
The man chuckled. “As if there was a choice.”
He disappeared inside. The view of the valley, unobstructed by buildings on the other side of the road, captured her attention. She tried to commit all to memory. Perhaps, if she was to redeem herself with work, trying to recapture this would give her something other than her prison to paint. Or she would try to draw it in her mind’s eye, if things became too unbearable.
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