Angel of Storms

by Trudi Canavan

  The shadows had grown longer so she knew it was late afternoon. She had no idea how much time had passed since she’d left Schpeta, but it had been evening then. An entire day had passed, though it didn’t feel like it. She decided to rest and wait for night so she had stars to navigate by. Sliding down into the coolness of a dune’s shadow, she tucked her hands out of the wind and closed her eyes.

  She woke up shivering, blinking her eyes open to see a ceiling of black splattered with stars. It looked as if someone had taken a bucket of pink and purple sand and tossed it over a blanket–a blanket with a hole in the centre that the sand was spiralling towards like water going down a drain.

  Untucking her hands, she brought them to her face and rubbed her eyes. The impossible constellation remained. It was bright enough to cast light on her fingers. Perhaps she was still asleep, dreaming. Everything felt real, though. She slapped her face, lightly then harder. She’d never dreamed of a pain as convincing.

  The splash of stars was big enough to cover half the sky. Another broad band of them arced from horizon to horizon.

  This could not be her world.

  So was it the Angel’s world? She thought back to what he had told her. “She will bring you to my world when I am sure all is as I left it.” Had he communicated to Inekera that all was well in a way undetectable to Rielle? Had he met with Inekera when she had disappeared? If all was well, and this world was rich in magic, why hadn’t Inekera taken Rielle into this world to a safe place?

  Whatever her reasons are, they don’t matter now. What matters is survival. Her mouth was dry, and she wished for water as the first pangs of thirst came. She pushed herself to her knees. What to do now? She was still shivering at the cold. Reaching for her jacket, she shrugged into it then slipped her stockings on. Taking the underskirt from her head, she untied the knots and put that back on too. Even fully dressed she was still cold, but not as chilled as before.

  The Angel did not know that she was here. Was there a way she could contact him? The only way she knew how to speak to an Angel was through prayer.

  So prayer it is. She knelt in the sand and spoke, her voice hoarse and strange in the silence. She waited. No answer came. No Angel appeared. Perhaps his attention was elsewhere. She could try again later. In the meantime she would seek a more hospitable place. Deserts could be cold enough at night to kill, and walking would keep her warm.

  Wrapping her arms about her chest and tucking her boots under an arm, she started along the top of the dune. The stars provided a gentler light than the sun, but bright enough to illuminate the land all around. The view in every direction looked the same so she continued away from the marks of her earlier passing. Keeping to the tops of dunes where possible, she looked around constantly, searching for signs of habitation or roads. Valhan had spoken of other artisans living in his world, and there had been plenty of people in Inekera’s.

  She frowned as she remembered the beggars and workers in the square. Were they being punished for wrongs committed in their lifetime? She was tainted. Perhaps when Valhan had invited her to his world he had really meant to punish her. Perhaps she had been abandoned here as penance. Perhaps, instead of tearing apart tainted souls, the Angels sent them here to die a second, slow and torturous death.

  Perhaps she wouldn’t die, and her punishment was to never be released from the torment of thirst and sunburn.

  No, he said I would join the artisans in his world and make beautiful things. He simply hasn’t noticed I’ve arrived, or worked out where I am.

  From time to time she spoke a prayer, in case he was listening. She also checked the night sky, making sure she walked straight and not in circles. As time stretched she tried to keep from worrying too much by remembering the stories Sa-Mica had told her, during their long trek from Fyre to the Mountain Temple. Stories of tainted who had used far more magic than she ever had, and been forgiven. Tainted who had generated more magic than they had stolen from the Angels by spending the rest of their lives creating. As she had–though it had only taken five years.

  She wondered how much magic she’d generated by weaving tapestries. Once or twice she had thought she could sense energy as she’d worked, but it could easily have been her imagination. Most of the time she had been too absorbed to notice anything else. A few times she had watched the other weavers working, hoping to sense the magic they were creating, but nobody got to sit idly in the workshop for long and she was soon given a task to do.

  More magic would be created by artisans in her own world to replace what Valhan had used, but in the meantime it was empty of magic. That saddened her. Though magic had brought her and others so much trouble, in the hands of priests it was used to heal the sick. They would have to turn to the sorts of remedies and cures women cooked up in their kitchens, which were not as effective. People would die. Though probably not as many as die in wars fought with magic, she reminded herself.

  Though the desert was cold it was still dry, and when her spit thickened she stopped praying aloud, instead reciting the words in her thoughts instead. Her stockings wore through, first one foot letting sand in, then the other. The soles of her feet, used to smooth inner soles, grew sore.

  Her calves began to ache, too. Walking on soft sand was hard work. She stopped a few times but only long enough to massage the stiffness out. The chill air soon set her shivering, anyway, keeping her moving. When a glow appeared on the horizon relief mingled with apprehension. Her body longed for warmth, but her mind dreaded the heat to come and how it would add to the constant thirst. She decided to sleep in a dune’s shadow while it was long enough to shelter in, but first she would see what the dawn revealed of the land around her.

  A bright crescent of fire crested the horizon, growing steadily and casting beams of red then orange then yellow-white light across the desert. The heat it brought grew steadily and her skin prickled as it began to produce sweat. As the sun stretched upwards, edges swelling outwards then curving back in to form a circle, it became too bright to look at. She averted her eyes and turned her attention to the land.

  Dunes stretched out in all directions. The view was no different to what had greeted her the previous day. If she had not been so confident that she had travelled in a straight line she’d have concluded she’d walked in a circle.

  Sighing, she prayed aloud then found a long shadow to sleep in.

  A dream in which she stumbled into a camp fire woke her with a start. She looked down to see that the holes in her stockings had grown so large that her feet now protruded, leaving them exposed to the sunlight. Judging by the sun’s position she had only slept an hour or two. Hunger now joined her relentless thirst. Her mouth was so dry she could barely swallow, and her lips were hard and crusty. As she opened them they split, and she let out a gasp that only stretched them more painfully.

  Fear consumed her. Fear she would not find water. Fear of dying before the Angel found her.

  If artisans live here, there must be water somewhere, she reminded herself. There must be an end to the desert.

  Repeating that thought over and over, she rose stiffly and resumed walking. If she stayed still she would grow thirstier; if she moved she would grow thirstier faster but at least there was a chance she’d find water. Though she would lose even more moisture walking in the heat of the day, she didn’t think she’d last another day even if she rested.

  This time she had only the sun to navigate by. Keeping it at her back at least meant her face was protected by her own shadow. She kept her jacket on, but reknotted her underskirt into a head covering. She put on her boots, tying them close to her sunburned ankles with her stockings to keep out as much sand as possible, and wished she’d thought of that earlier.

  The sun climbed higher. Its light radiated off the dunes, making her eyes hurt. Her face ached from squinting and her skin grew hot even where it was covered in cloth. She was relieved when the sun finally began to sink, but it did so in front of her, blasting heat into her face and brin
ging back her earlier headache.

  Long before it reached the horizon she began hearing water. She’d start into full awareness at the sound of it, sure that she had finally stumbled upon a stream, but each time it turned out to be her mind serving up memories of what she longed for. She also imagined voices. Whispers made her stop, only to realise a light breeze was stirring the sand now. She hadn’t noticed how taxing the utter silence of the desert had been, with just her own breathing and footsteps to break it. The sound of the breeze receded eventually, but by then she had energy and attention for no more than moving one leg after another.

  So when cold and darkness returned it took a while for her to notice. Looking around, she cursed silently. It had been a long time since she had checked whether she was still walking in a straight line, or had remembered to scan her surroundings for signs of humanity. From what she could see, dunes still extended in all directions. The impossible, mad spiral of stars was emerging from the rapidly diminishing glow of the vanished sun. Suddenly dizzy, her legs buckled and her knees met the soft sand.

  Angel Valhan, why don’t you hear me? Perhaps because her voice was too quiet in this vast place. Then I must be louder. How, though? She doubted she could speak now, let alone shout. And if he heard, how would he find her in the vast desert?

  I need to make a light. She could burn her clothing, but she doubted that would show up against the glow of the stars. Betzi had taught her how to make a small light with magic. Could she do so now? Was using magic permissible in the Angel’s world?

  Well, if it isn’t, then it should get his attention.

  Closing her eyes, she reached out a little way and drew some magic to herself, feeling a shock as more energy filled her than she had expected. Is this enough? I do need to make a really bright light. She sensed Stain blossom around her as she took more. It shrank rapidly as the magic beyond it flowed in to fill the gap.

  What did Betzi say to do? Vibrate the air a little. I’ll start small…

  Whiteness assailed her eyes, but not the kind she’d seen when moving between worlds. This light came with a wave of searing heat. It vanished as she stopped making the light, leaving her too dazzled to see the crazy constellation. She lost her balance and fell, landing on her back and sliding down the side of a dune.

  Whoops, she thought.

  Lying still, she waited until her vision began to recover. Then she concentrated on vibrating the air far above her. Once again the light she made was too brilliant, and she had to cover her eyes with her hands, but at least it didn’t burn her. From her vantage point below it, she could not tell how big or visible it had been from afar, but it was spectacular and perversely enjoyable. Two more times she brightened the sky, then she let go of the rest of the magic she’d gathered.

  She waited. Her eyes recovered slowly, but all she could see was the edge of the dunes, the wind blowing sand over one side. She watched the constellation move slowly overhead. Slowly she came to the realisation that the Angel hadn’t seen the lights. She was lost and alone. Her only hope was to find water, and she needed to do that before the sun returned because she doubted she’d survive many more hours under its heat.

  The climb to the top of the dune took all her will and left her dizzy. She waited bent over, with hands pressed to her knees, until her head stopped spinning, then checked her position in relation to the stars.

  Every step required concentration and will. Every step meant ignoring the ache in her limbs, the dryness of her mouth, the pounding in her head. What thought she could manage was directed to the Angel. See me, she begged. I am here, in your world. Help me. Guide me to water. She lost herself in the words and movements, no longer worrying about the why or when or how of anything.

  The first time weakness sent her sprawling down the side of a dune it shocked her into full awareness again, but the next time she had no energy for fear. She stood up and resumed walking because it was what she did now. What she’d always done. What she would always do. She lost count of the times she fell and staggered to her feet. Soon it was a normal part of walking.

  When she woke to find warmth spreading up her chilled legs and over her forehead she could only stare up at the sky. It was a glorious blend of purples and reds and oranges. Pretty.

  She tried to get up, but her muscles cramped and refused to obey her. Closing her eyes, she sank back to the sand.

  This is it. I’m finished. The Angel either doesn’t care or can’t hear me. Her breath shuddered with a sudden urge to laugh. Well, if he can smell me I don’t blame him for leaving me here.

  She closed her eyes against nausea and heat and the throbbing pain in her temples… and then the ground beneath her began to tilt. Opening her eyes again, she saw that her senses were lying. She fought to keep them open, but they refused to obey her will. As they closed and the vertigo returned she gave up and let herself spin away into darkness.

  CHAPTER 6

  Cool liquid slid over her cheeks and into her mouth. Rielle frowned, the hot skin of her face pulling as she did. Is this another illusion? Do I care? I’ll take any water, real or imaginary. After all, if it’s not real it won’t do me any more harm.

  Her parched throat resisted her attempt to swallow. The liquid trickled around her tongue and was sucked into her lungs with her next breath. She choked. Coughed. The flow of water stopped. Her eyes were open, yet she could only see the crazy night sky… and the outline of a head, cast in shadow.

  Enough detail, though, to know this was not Valhan.

  The stranger spoke. His voice was that of a young man. The word was unfamiliar, yet she understood. “Drink.” Her ears registered it and an echo whispered in her mind. Is this another Angel?

  “Drink,” the voice said again, using her native tongue.

  Trying to, she replied in her thoughts. A hand lifted her head. Something hard pressed against her lips and the split opened. She winced at the sting. But cool, wonderful water spilled into her mouth and she forgot the pain. She held it there, letting her tongue swim and soften in it before forcing her stiff throat to swallow.

  Again the water came, then again. When it did not flow once more she let out a wordless protest. Is that all? I need more than that!

  “Later. Drink too quickly and you will be ill,” the stranger told her in his strange language that echoed meaning into her mind. The hand slid out from under her head. “Rest. I will take you to my people.”

  She saw an image of covered carts, their sides made of wood rather than fabric, drawn by huge, strange animals. People lived in them. Ordinary people. The man was amused that she might think he was some kind of magical being. She understood that he was relieved that she had woken. Her state of dehydration concerned him, but with quick treatment among his people she should recover before they had to move on. Though where they would leave her would have to be decided. Not in this unpopulated world…

  The flow of information faded and she drifted for a while until the buzz of many voices–inside and outside her head–roused her again. She opened her eyes to find herself inside a room with a curved ceiling. More water, strangely flavoured, was given to her, this time by a woman of her mother’s age with skin as brown as a Fyrian’s but a broader face and narrow chin. Strange to think that the Angels can age, too…

  When she woke again she felt more alert. Alone this time, she looked around the dim room. The bed filled the space between three walls and was large enough for two people. A heavy curtain blocked the rest of the room from view. A framework of wooden arches joined by panels of wood made up the walls and ceiling. To her left, the wall was flat, with a design painted over the surface that she suspected would prove boldly coloured when the room was better lit.

  As she began to wonder what was behind the curtains they twitched open. The same woman she remembered seeing before appeared, wrinkles around the eyes deepening as she smiled. To Rielle’s amusement, her host was wearing trousers under a short-sleeved shift that came to her thighs. She had never seen
women wearing trousers before. Both had been stitched with elaborate patterns.

  The room extended beyond the curtain as far again as the depth of the bed. As the woman stepped through she drew the cloth together again behind her. A point of light floated in with her. Rielle recalled that the young man believed his people were ordinary mortals. Did they have permission from the Angels to use magic? He hadn’t known what Angels were, so perhaps he and all his people didn’t know they shouldn’t. But how could they not know about Angels and be living in an Angels’ world?

  Unless it wasn’t the Angels’ world.

  “Welcome,” the woman said in the strange language the young man had spoken, with the same echo occurring in Rielle’s mind. She placed a hand on her chest. “I am Ankari. You are among the Travellers.”

  Travellers. Merchants. A nation of merchants. I come from a family of merchants, too, Rielle thought, nodding to show she understood, so we have something in common.

  Then realisation and astonishment overtook that thought. I am reading her mind! How is that possible?

  “You are a sorcerer, too,” Ankari replied, proving that she could read Rielle’s mind as well. The word meant someone who could use magic. Rielle winced. “All sorcerers can read minds,” Ankari continued, “unless the mind belongs to a stronger sorcerer. I am a sorcerer, but I am keeping my thoughts open to you so that you can understand me.”

  In Ankari’s mind another level of complexity to this mind reading was explained. While a more powerful sorcerer could learn to see past the block that most sorcerers maintained to hide their thoughts, it was considered rude to do so. Ankari was only reading Rielle’s mind in order to communicate, and would stop whenever she didn’t need to, or if Rielle objected.