Angel of Storms

by Trudi Canavan

  She experienced none of the physical sensations of fear, yet she still felt it. Only when they arrived in the next world did her heart began hammering, and her stomach knot. She pressed a hand to her heart, breathing quickly.

  Dahli frowned in concern. “Do you need more time to repair the damage from lack of breathing?”

  “No.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out. “Is someone pursuing us?”

  He looked away, at a circle of huge, dead trees. “I don’t think so, but as things stand we have to be careful. Ready?”

  She nodded, and they plunged into the whiteness again. A dozen worlds flashed in and out of sight, then a handful more. Dahli stopped on a cleared circle within a field of red plants with corkscrew leaves.

  “I want you to take and hold as much magic as you can,” he said.

  She looked at him in surprise. “But… that would strip this world of a lot of magic.”

  He nodded. “Perhaps. The people here are unaware of other worlds and use little of the magic they create. Valhan often used this place as a source of magic when he faced a demanding task.”

  Rielle wanted to ask what kinds of tasks could be that demanding, but Dahli was clearly in a hurry. Throwing her senses outwards, she stretched until she could feel the point where magic faded to nothing above her. Then she spread her awareness wide, following the edge of magic until she had the whole sphere of it in her reach. Doubting he meant her to strip the world completely, she drew it in radiating lines so that she took a little over half.

  “I have it,” she told him. He nodded, then took them on through the worlds. When he stopped again they stood in bright sunlight in the midst of an icy mountain ridge. A chill enveloped her feet as she sank into snow. Feeling moisture seeping through the soft shoes she’d been wearing in the palace, she hoped they weren’t going to stay here long.

  Then the ground below them began to rise–a circle of snow separating from the rest. She guessed that Dahli was lifting them with magic. They floated towards a cluster of snow-topped boulders and hovered over the gap between three of them. Dahli kicked the snow off the stilled air beneath their feet so they could see below. An opening appeared–a perfectly round hole lined with smooth ice. It plunged into darkness. Something told her it went a very long way down.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  She stared at him. “You’re not serious.”

  “Travelling between worlds leaves traces,” he told her. “The best way to hide your passing is to travel within a world. The further and faster the better.” He grasped her shoulders, pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her.

  “I’ve been through here before,” he assured her.

  They fell.

  She yelped, then closed her eyes despite it being so dark she could see nothing anyway. Dahli held her steady. The initial sensation of falling ebbed, and though she knew they were still moving, her stomach stopped trying to lift up into her chest.

  Then, as she was beginning to relax, her body began to feel unpleasantly heavy. Her legs struggled to hold her up. Her stomach sank low into her belly. The slowing of their descent took an uncomfortably long time, but finally the pressure began to ease.

  “Nearly there.”

  She opened her eyes. The walls widened. Below her a floor appeared, lit by a source of light to one side. It rose up and touched her feet. Dahli let her go and stepped away.

  Looking around, she took in a circular chamber. A quarter of the round wall was missing. Beyond was a sky full of ominous clouds, and the tops of distant mountains. Between her and the opening stood nine men and women. All were facing the newcomers and none looked surprised. They stood on the far side of an object, and as Rielle took in its dimensions she shivered, and a lump formed in her throat.

  It was a coffin. A coffin made of ice.

  She had no doubt what lay within. The Raen. Her Angel. Or all that was left of him. A man many hated and some loved. She looked up at the strangers and found them regarding her with equal curiosity to her own. They were all good-looking and not much older or younger than her in appearance, which probably indicated they were actually much older.

  “Friends of the Raen, thank you for coming here,” Dahli said, addressing them but also glancing at Rielle to include her. “You were invited because Valhan knew he could trust you.”

  He moved to the coffin and looked down at the icy surface. Rielle drifted over to the end of it so she could still see his face as he addressed the others.

  “As most of you know,” Dahli continued, “during the twenty cycles Valhan was missing, the allies came to believe they did not need him. They began to do as they pleased, though cautiously in case it was all some trick.

  “When he returned he made it clear that the agreements he made with them still stood. Most complied without complaint, others made new deals. Yet there was resistance, in thoughts and sometimes in discussion with other allies. They had come to believe that they did not need him. In time, they would have risen against him, and they would have won.”

  None of the strangers looked surprised at this. Some nodded as if it were news, but not unexpected.

  “He could have called on the assistance of others, of new allies, to thwart them, but that would bind him further. Instead he did something… unexpected.” Dahli shook his head and sighed. “Something incredibly risky. Something that he could not reveal to anyone–not even me–until a few hours ago. And I would have advised against it.”

  He reached into his coat. His arm stilled and he frowned, then he looked up at one of the men.

  All followed his gaze. As the young man glanced around in puzzlement at suddenly becoming the centre of attention, Rielle’s heart skipped a beat. Though she was sure she had never seen the young man before, he seemed familiar. His skin was pale and his hair light. Like Dahli, his handsomeness was of a more approachable and natural kind than the others’ idealised beauty, but it wasn’t Dahli he reminded her of.

  Dahli glanced down at his coat, then shrugged. “This rather spoils the moment, but I’m likely to forget later. I believe this is yours, Tyen Ironsmelter.”

  He drew a shining, metallic object from his pocket. The wings flared as it came free. The pale young man’s face lit up, and suddenly Rielle knew who he reminded her of.

  Izare. It’s something about his mouth. Nicely shaped.

  Yet his eyes held none of Izare’s sensual darkness. Instead they were both soulful and secretive, and as he spoke a word the mechanical creature flew to him, landing on his palm. She remembered that Valhan had said this object was the future, and looked closely at the man.

  Then hisses and gasps of horror dragged her attention back to Dahli. He had drawn something else from his coat and though it was withered and blackened she recognised it instantly.

  A hand. Valhan’s hand.

  She looked down at the coffin. Why isn’t it in there? Or is the coffin empty, and we’re here to inter all that remains of him?

  Dahli placed Valhan’s hand on the coffin. “Do not touch it,” he said. “It is vital to what we do next.” He looked around at those watching him, including Rielle. “Within this casket lies Valhan’s new body.”

  Rielle’s breath caught in her throat. The surprise, hope and excitement that filled her was reflected on all the faces in the chamber. As questions burst forth, Dahli stalled them by raising a hand. “We do not have time for long explanations–and they would be long. You will learn how it is done as it is done. Why it was done?” His lips pressed into a smile that was both disapproving and admiring. “To get rid of both rebels and allies. That a rebellion should arise on his return was unavoidable, when a generation of young sorcerers whose freedoms had never been curtailed resisted his laws. Instead of quelling it, he encouraged it.” He looked at the young man with the mechanical insect, who was frowning. “Once they killed the ruler of worlds they would have the confidence and skills to deal with the allies for him. Then, when the numbers of both were reduced, they would be no t
hreat when he returned.”

  Dahli looked down at the hand.

  “Why did he have to die? Many did not believe he was dead during the twenty cycles he was missing, because nobody had witnessed a death, and there had been no corpse. This time he ensured that there would be no doubt. Plenty would see his demise. And, more importantly, nobody would steal or desecrate his body beyond the point of resurrection.”

  He drew in a deep breath. “No more explanations. We must begin, and work fast, in case the rebels find us before we can finish.”

  He looked at Rielle and his expression softened. “This is Rielle Lazuli, the newest and strongest of the Raen’s friends. Only she is strong enough to perform the resurrection.”

  As the others turned to look at her, Rielle’s mouth went dry. Bringing the Raen back to life is entirely up to me? I’ve had less than a cycle’s training in magic!

  “You can do it,” Dahli told her. “You will have to learn and use pattern shifting in a way none but Valhan has tried, but if he was confident you could do it then you can. As you did when learning pattern shifting, you must use magic to record a pattern–Valhan’s pattern–and change the body in here.” He patted the top of the coffin. “So that you have less to do and to speed the process, I will take the knowledge and memories stored within this.” He picked up the hand. “You will read it from my mind and begin to imprint it.”

  Someone in the group voiced a low “ah”, but the rest remained silent.

  “What do we do?” one of the sorcerers asked.

  “Be ready to defend us.” Dahli grimaced. “Use only the magic you gathered outside this world, if you can. We may need all of what is here.”

  The man nodded, his face hardening with determination.

  Dahli moved to the other end of the coffin and looked across it to Rielle. “Begin with changing the pattern of the body. You will need to read my mind so I can instruct you, but not until I say to begin.” He looked down at the hand. His mouth pressed into a line and his brow creased in concentration.

  Rielle turned her attention to the casket, searching beyond the ice lid, and found living matter, cool, but warm compared to the ice coffin. Her senses told her it was human, male and young–much younger than she expected.

  “Who is this?” she asked.

  “A body without a mind,” Dahli replied. “I know nothing more.”

  Seeking the young man’s mind, she saw that he was right. It was unshielded, but no thoughts stirred within it.

  “Begin,” Dahli said.

  Looking up at him, she found his mind open and readable. He was concentrating on the withered hand. To her astonishment, it did not feel like a hand to his senses. It did not feel like a mind either. The skin, bones, muscles and sinew had all been changed to something neither alive nor fully dead, but capable of forming a pattern. A very intricate and extensive pattern.

  Dahli now sent magic into that pattern and it shivered along connections too complicated to grasp. As when she had learned pattern shifting, Rielle began to shape magic to hold the pattern, using it to enhance her understanding. All of the magic she had gathered went into it, and she reached out to take in more. The ice world was astonishingly rich in it. She wondered how it had become so. Or had Valhan made it so, somehow?

  She lost all perception of time, her full concentration on imprinting the pattern. When the flow of information abruptly ended she swayed, then caught the edge of the coffin to steady herself.

  “Now change the body to follow the new pattern,” Dahli instructed.

  “Before the mind?” she asked. “Without the right change to the mind, won’t the body revert to its original pattern?”

  “Not if we change all of the pattern,” he replied.

  The ice chilled her fingers as she sent her mind within. Taking even more magic, she began to alter living matter as she had done when healing the animals and changing parts of her body during Dahli’s lessons. This time she did not tweak what was there but imposed the corresponding pattern from what she’d recorded into magic.

  She started with the feet then slowly, steadily, worked her way upwards. When she reached the brain she paused before imprinting it, wondering at what point this mindless person would become Valhan.

  It didn’t. It remained an empty vessel. But of course, she thought, this is just his body. Until he has all his memories it will be as mindless as this poor young man. I wonder, was he born that way or suffered an accident of some kind? She looked closer. Mercifully, he was in a state rather like a dreamless sleep.

  Confirming that his body was not reverting to the old pattern, she looked up at Dahli.

  “Done.”

  He nodded, but did not take his eyes from the hand.

  “Now for the memories,” he said softly.

  Silence followed. Dahli stared at the hand, but all she gained from his mind was confusion and apprehension, and a muddle of disconnected images. Something was not happening as it was supposed to. The others began to exchange glances, and she guessed what they were thinking. Would the resurrection fail halfway through?

  At last Dahli looked up at her, then glanced at the others.

  “I am meant to begin at the oldest memories,” he explained, “but I can’t isolate them. They are linked to the moment Valhan imprinted all his memories and knowledge into his hand.” He looked at Rielle. “The only way I can see to do this is to simply feed you information as it comes.”

  “I’m ready,” she told him.

  He drew in a deep breath, closed his eyes and nodded. “Begin reading my mind.”

  Once again, images and concepts entered Dahli’s mind. This time she was able to make sense of them. At once she understood why Dahli had been unable to follow Valhan’s instruction. The hand contained a frozen moment in time. Connections flowed outwards from what had been Valhan’s present when he’d created the hand, linking in a tangle that produced every possible route his mind might take to reach a memory. Dahli could not get to the oldest memories without passing the most recent.

  Valhan’s plan had been freshest in his thoughts, and as Dahli concentrated on that memory Rielle began to record it with magic. He had taken an enormous risk, trusting an untried, complex resurrection to people who hadn’t even known what they would be asked to do. To Dahli, his most loyal and intelligent follower. To Rielle, whose loyalty was untested but who was the only person who had the strength for the task, since her powers were equal to his.

  Rielle nearly lost concentration out of surprise. She wanted to pursue the Raen’s memories on this subject, but Dahli continued following those dealing with the Raen’s plan.

  “This is too slow,” she said, quelling her frustration. “We can’t watch every memory he’s had, or it will take a thousand cycles to do this. There must be a way to speed it up. Can you read them as if they are a pattern?”

  Dahli said nothing, but in response he began to experiment. Sure enough, if he did not try to comprehend what he was seeing, or follow a thread of memories, the process was faster. Rielle continued to imprint the pattern into magic, empathising with his frustration at not being able to discover more about the man he had served and loved for so long.

  But I can, she realised. Enhancing her mind, she was able to channel the pattern Dahli sent without concentrating on it. That left her free to explore the memories collecting within the magic around her.

  She sought the memory she had last seen. Equal in strength? His memories confirmed it, and told her that he had been a little afraid of her. There had been moments when he had not been able to read her mind, and though he did not believe in prophecies, the influence of Millennium’s Rule on the worlds frightened him enough that he had ordered Dahli to watch for signs she might turn against him.

  Well, that explains why Dahli was so jittery.

  Not teaching her how to travel between worlds had been a small precaution against that possibility. As was not teaching her how to fight. If she did become a threat, she knew so little of mag
ical combat Dahli ought to be able to kill her.

  Just as well I never got around to asking Dahli for battle training, she mused. It would have only made him even more paranoid.

  Valhan had thought it likely something would bring her into conflict with him one day. It would be easier to kill her, if she became a threat, sooner rather than later. But interacting with a sorcerer nearly as powerful was an interesting prospect, especially if she grew as loyal and useful as Dahli.

  So either I serve him or die? Rielle felt a flicker of outrage. But she could see he had survived this long by considering all possible threats, and making plans in case they came to be. I suppose he’d be justified in defending himself if I did turn on him.

  He had considered how he could gain her loyalty. Nurturing her tendency to see him as a deity did not appeal, and while he believed he could make her fall in love with him, that would bring her into conflict with Dahli.

  Though if he ever wanted to get rid of Dahli…

  She turned her mind away. The pattern of memories was coming faster as Dahli grew more proficient at reading them. I won’t have too long to explore Valhan’s mind. So what do I want to know next?

  If she was the only person who could resurrect him, then how long ago had he come up with the plan? Plunging into his memories, she looked around, hoping to find a starting point that would lead to an answer. Some time between leaving her world and bringing her to his palace…

  She glimpsed herself walking with the people of his world. Except… stopping, she examined them more closely and her stomach sank.

  They aren’t his people! He took me to see people that resembled him, and who I would identify with and trust. People who lived in a desert but were nomadic traders, like the Travellers.

  So what of his true home world? Did he even remember…?

  Oh.

  His home world was where had learned how to rule–and how not to. It was where he–too young to know how to handle power of both the magical and political kind–had made a great many mistakes. It was so long ago that the regret he had once felt had faded, but the echo of it was still there.