Successor's Promise

by Trudi Canavan

  “I’ll send someone back to free her when I’m ready,” Qall replied. “In the meantime, she can look after herself.”

  “With what?” Tyen demanded. Conscious that Dahli was watching, he moderated his voice to sound more persuasive than angry. “Her strength? Without magic, she is just a young woman, defenceless and homeless, unable to read minds. Her looks will attract the worst kind of attention. As a stranger from another world, she may be blamed for the loss of magic. I’m surprised you would do that to her, after the kindness she has shown you.”

  Qall’s face was stiff, but his eyes were wide. “It … it won’t be for long, I’m sure,” he assured Tyen.

  “How long?” Tyen asked. He took a step closer to Qall. “Tell me where she is and I will make sure she is in no danger.”

  The young man began to look at Dahli, then stopped. His brows lowered and shoulders straightened.

  “No.” He drew in a deep breath. “The place I left her was fertile, civilised and peaceful.” He paused. “You can’t trick me into telling you so you can find and kill her.”

  Tyen blinked in surprise, then immediately he understood the young man’s words. Qall’s voice and manner were all determination now, and yet his eyes were pleading.

  He’s trying to stop me from leaving and revealing I am not truly on Dahli’s side. He needs me.

  Tyen itched to leave and search for Rielle, but he could see how impossible the task would be. He could seek out worlds recently stripped of magic, but searching for one person within just one world could take many cycles, and hundreds of dead worlds existed now.

  He drew in a deep breath. Why am I so angry? It wasn’t anger so much as alarm and concern. I was fine knowing Rielle hated me so long as she was alive and safe. Now … I might never see her again. Might never get the chance to explain my plan …

  His plan. His brilliant plan to distract Dahli in order to give Rielle time to find a safe place to hide, and so he could warn Baluka if the Raen was likely to return. It’s all ruined. First Rielle finds out what I’m doing and tells Baluka; then Qall leaves her stranded and joins Dahli.

  That was why he was angry. Qall had spoiled everything.

  Why? Why give himself up when he had been safe at the edges of the worlds?

  Perhaps because he wasn’t safe. Perhaps Dahli had found them. Tyen looked at Dahli for confirmation, but the man was distracted. He and Zeke had moved away a few steps and were arguing in low tones. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, though they stood close by.

  “That’s because I’ve created a noise shield that warps sounds, so while we can hear them and they can hear us, the sounds are unintelligible,” Qall said. “We don’t have long before they notice, however.” He met and held Tyen’s gaze. “Rielle believed that as long as Dahli couldn’t communicate his threats to us, the Travellers would be safe. Inekera told me that Dahli’s next step would be to kill them, one by one, and send the news of each death out in all directions in the hope it found me. Staying away was not going to save them.” He grimaced. “He has people in place, ready to kill if he gives the order, or news arrives that he is dead. And he isn’t just threatening to kill my family, but all Travellers.”

  Tyen nodded to show he understood. “What will you do?”

  “I … haven’t decided. That’s why I asked for you to join us. I needed to know where you stood. Now that I do, I am more hopeful.”

  “But my plan is worthless.”

  “Yes, but you are smart. You’ll come up with another.” Qall smiled faintly. “Dahli isn’t as ruthless as I expected either. He doesn’t want to—” He stopped, and Tyen grew aware that Dahli and Zeke had stopped talking. Qall turned to Dahli as the man moved to his side. “Can we sit and chat?”

  “Of course,” Dahli replied. He gestured towards the chairs and looked at Tyen. “Shall we?”

  Tyen nodded. “I’d be honoured.”

  The four of them strolled back to the golden seats, all polite and smiling, as if one of them did not expect another to help him destroy a third’s mind and replace it with the memories of a thousand-cycle-old ruler.

  PART SIX

  RIELLE

  CHAPTER 15

  On the morning of the fifth day, the pickers weren’t given baskets and sent out into a field. Instead, a few coins were pressed into their hands, and they were escorted to the road.

  Rielle looked down at the four small squares of tarnished copper, then up at the other workers. None were protesting, though they didn’t look happy. None looked surprised either. Only resigned. They formed several small groups and one larger one that Rielle had guessed was an extended family; then began leaving, setting off in either direction along the road.

  The three women Rielle had grown most friendly with had not moved yet. They were murmuring in low voices, frowning and looking at their coins. One said something, and the others glanced at Rielle. After a moment, the one named Bel beckoned. Grateful to be included, Rielle wandered over to stand with them. They didn’t step back to include her in their circle but, after another short discussion, they gave her reassuring smiles and started walking. She fell into step with them.

  They were of about the age Rielle had been when she’d met Baluka and the Travellers, and clearly were very familiar with picking. Like all the locals, they were wiry and short, and surprisingly strong for their size. They’d shown Rielle how to best strap on the enormous baskets the field workers used, and avoid the fluff full of tiny spines that grew from the stalks of the strange bulbous plant they’d been harvesting. When Rielle all but collapsed, trembling with exhaustion, during each inadequately short rest break, they’d been sympathetic.

  Now they walked slowly but with purpose. They chatted quietly, two walking ahead and two behind. Mai was the most talkative, and she enjoyed teaching Rielle words of the local language. None of them spoke the Traveller tongue. Only the foreman of the farm had, and then very badly. He’d been surprised that Rielle had known the language. She’d made up a story of learning it from a Traveller, and though he’d frowned in disbelief he’d still hired her. Since the farm owner had decided to harvest early, he needed more pickers but had no more money to pay them, so hiring a foreigner not only gained him an extra pair of hands but quietened the grumbling from the workers about the cut in their pay, fearful that more foreign workers would be brought in to fill the jobs.

  For the same reason, most of the pickers had been wary of her at first, but it was soon obvious that if she represented these foreigners, they weren’t going to be much of a threat. She was too slight for the heavy work and unused to long days of exertion.

  It was not what she’d have chosen to do, but she had little choice. Nobody in these parts had any use for a painter, weaver or mosaic designer. The nearest city was still a few days’ walk away, she had been hungry and tired, and the foreman had warned her that the city was a dangerous place for a lone, foreign woman.

  The sun had passed the zenith and was sinking towards the distant hills when the road met a larger thoroughfare. Not far along this, a faint noise behind them drew their attention to an approaching four-wheeled cart full of the same crop they’d been harvesting. It was pulled by a squat beast with a stumpy tail that waddled dramatically as it walked. Mai called out to the driver, and a long exchange followed, the girls quickening their pace to keep up. Then all three women stepped up to the wagon and each pressed one of the coins into his hand. Rielle did the same, her stomach sinking as a third of her wealth disappeared. She thought wistfully of the gemstones and spices she had pressed into Timane’s hands before setting off after Qall.

  At least Timane will be fine if I never escape this world and come back for her. Rielle missed the girl, who had become the closest thing to a friend she’d had for over five cycles.

  The wagon did not slow as the girls hurried to the back and scrambled aboard. Each rearranged the crop to form a hollow, then covered it with their shawl to avoid the fluff. Not having such a garment, Rielle pe
rched on top so as little of her skin or clothing was in contact with the spines as possible.

  Though the wagon moved slowly, it was a faster mode of transport than walking. Rielle’s body now ached not just from the picking, but from the day’s journey as well. She concentrated on keeping her balance, taking reassurance from the cheerful talk of the girls.

  The sun was setting and the wagon had crested the side of a hill when Bel exclaimed and pointed. Following her gesture, Rielle saw a great delta spread below. The threads of the river were different colours, combining to form an oily grey spilling out into a distant sea. A closer look revealed that these colours leaked from buildings crowding all of the land between. Memories of Rielle’s childhood flashed into her mind, full of vivid shades and hues. They were so powerful she could almost smell the dyes and mordants.

  Then she realised she could smell dyes and mordants. A breeze had set the girls’ hair fluttering—and their noses wrinkling. They made disgusted sounds, exchanged a few words and laughed.

  Looking out towards the sea, Rielle traced the oily slick to the horizon. She couldn’t see the end of it. Her parents’ dyeworks had released wastes into the local river, downstream of the city. People complained from time to time, and bribes had been made to quieten them.

  Mother said if they want their clothes and awnings coloured, they have to put up with the consequences. I have no idea where the wastes went, downriver from Fyre. She couldn’t see many boats, either on the river or sea below. Even so, she would avoid eating anything that looked as if it had swum or grown in water.

  It was fully dark when the wagon reached the city gates, and cold enough to set Rielle shivering. The girls hopped off, carefully shaking and picking spiny fluff off their shawls. Bel helped Rielle clean it off her clothing, then produced a piece of string and tied Rielle’s hair into a bun at the back of her neck, in the same way they wore theirs. They examined each other’s fingers and cleaned their nails. This attention to appearance made Rielle even more conscious of the fact that she hadn’t bathed since Qall had abandoned her in this world, and no doubt stank.

  Once satisfied with their appearance, the women straightened their backs and strode towards the gates.

  Guards questioned them, eyeing Rielle suspiciously, but the confidence of the talkative women and another round of coins got them through the gate. Then the women’s expressions became grim and determined. Sticking close together, and gesturing for Rielle to do the same, they dodged drains overflowing with excrement and rubbish and the advances of the multitude of men crowding the narrow streets. The latter were a constant source of calls and harassment, and once they had to break into a run to avoid a small gang of them. Another time they had to pull Vil away from a man who had stepped out of an alley and grabbed her hair. These men hesitated when they saw Rielle, however. A foreigner clearly made them wary.

  I will always be the stranger, she thought. In the only place I am a local—my home city—I am not welcome either. Will I ever find a place to call home again? Will I even survive being stranded in this world?

  At least it was warmer in the city. Eventually they reached a quieter part, Mai sacrificing a single coin in order to pass through a gate. The rest of their coin was pooled in order to purchase sleeping space on the floor of a room with one side open to the street, and a meagre meal of some kind of grain and a gritty sauce. They ate huddled between men and women sitting cross-legged, their hands rapidly rising and falling as they stitched decoration onto clothing.

  It was still dark when Rielle was shaken awake by Bel. The girl led Rielle out of the room and down the street to where a tributary of the river replaced the buildings on one side. The air stank of human waste and worse. On the riverside, flimsy, dirty rooms barely large enough for one person had been made out of old cloth, and outside each was a queue of men and women. Bel and Rielle joined one, and it wasn’t long before it was clear the awnings were the local version of a toilet. All they contained inside was a stretch of the wall, but it was evident from the muck coating the outer side that users were meant to squat over it to relieve themselves while not overbalancing and ending up in the river. So many locals had been more concerned about falling than aiming correctly that the top of the wall was almost as soiled.

  When they returned to the room, the other two girls were awake and the sun was rising. They took turns to hold up shawls for privacy as they washed with a rag soaked in a bucket of cloudy water, standing in the tiny space between a different set of men and women bent over their sewing. After attending to their appearance again, they set off back towards the gate.

  Tired, sore and still feeling filthy, all too aware that she now had no money and would still be stranded out in the country if not for the help of these girls, Rielle followed passively. When they reached the gate, they did not pass through it out into the menacing streets. Instead they entered a large building beside it, the façade marred by an ineffectual attempt to repair a crack that ran all the way to the roof with some kind of crumbling mortar.

  Inside were hundreds of people sitting on the floor, shoulders hunched, sewing rapidly. Beside them were precarious stacks of cloth of various sizes and shapes. Nobody looked up as they entered. Small, oddly subdued children sat beside the piles, or lay on the floor sleeping. In one corner, a group of older children hunched over, tiny fingers moving with uncanny dexterity and speed. More men and women were walking back and forth across the room watching the workers closely, or leaning over them in an intimidating way.

  Mai led them into a small room. Behind a table—the first Rielle had seen anywhere—sat a grim-faced man. He eyed them all, his frown deepening as he saw Rielle. At a question from him, Mai reached over to Rielle and grabbed her wrist, turning Rielle’s hands palms up. The man examined them briefly and looked dissatisfied. He gave what sounded like instructions, scribbled on a scrap of cloth and handed it to Mai.

  They returned to the main room, where Mai approached one of the men examining the sewers’ work. He asked questions, to which the girls supplied quick answers. When he got to Rielle, Mai answered for her. A frown that was growing all too familiar creased his forehead. Turning away, he gestured for them to follow, then wove through the seated workers and towers of cloth at a pace Rielle had difficulty keeping up with. At one point, she grew a little dizzy, lost her balance and had to grab a tower of fabric to prevent herself from slipping over, earning a savage scowl from the worker beside it. Finding she had fallen behind, she hurried to catch up again.

  Fortunately, the examiner had stopped to speak to a man with a plaited beard. He gestured in a way that made it clear they were to join this man, but as Rielle went to follow, he caught her arm. Dragging her away, he guided her to a corner where mounds of fabric had been piled up to the ceiling. It was much warmer here—uncomfortably so. He called out to a woman with greasy hair and, his tone turning disparaging, gestured to his mouth. The woman’s shoulders sagged, but she nodded and beckoned. The man pushed Rielle towards the woman, then strode away.

  Rubbing her arm, Rielle approached the woman, who ushered her to the edge of one of the mounds. Looking closer, Rielle saw they weren’t made up of fabric but of completed garments. Workers were picking up enormous armfuls of these and carrying them away. The woman’s gestures implied that Rielle should do the same. Gathering as much fabric as she could, Rielle staggered as the woman added even more. Rielle’s tired arms and aching shoulders trembled, but she did not object.

  Who’d have guessed clothing weighed so much? she mused as she followed the other workers into a dimly lit room. At once, an unbearable humidity pressed in around her, carrying a sickly sweet odour. Vents at floor level pumped this pungent steam into the room. There was a queue; those in line waited while the worker in front dropped his or her bundle of clothing into a huge basket, then began arranging each piece onto hangers swinging from racks filling the right side of the room. More workers were removing clothing from racks on the left side, folding them with precise an
d practised speed.

  All of the workers in the room were coughing, and Rielle soon joined them. One of the folders paused to cough into a scrap of cloth, and before he tucked it away in his sleeve, she saw dots of red. The man was shouted at by an examiner hovering by the door, and his movements became hurried.

  The ache in Rielle’s arms turned to pain. She hugged the bundle closer, but it made no difference. When it was the turn of the worker in front of Rielle to drop his bundle of clothing into the basket, one piece slipped off onto the floor. Out of the steam stepped another examiner, screaming at him as he snatched the soiled garment off the floor. Rielle shifted her grip on her burden again, half dizzy from breathing the steam, and watched how the man in front arranged the clothing on the racks. The pieces were all some kind of tunic top, with slanted shoulders and a collar that was awkward to hang neatly.

  How did I get here? she wondered. Her past seemed like someone else’s life. She suspected that if she told anyone here her story, it would sound like a fantastic tale made up to entertain children.

  Maybe it was just a story. Or a dream. Maybe she’d woken up from a fanciful dream about magic to a living nightmare. If the nightmare hadn’t been as different to her childhood as the dream, she might have believed it.

  Suddenly it was her turn to deposit the bundle of clothes into the basket. She took care not to drop any, catching one tunic just before it reached the floor. Next she turned her attention to the hanging, and earned several shouted reprimands from the examiner before she got it right. By the time she was done, the length of the line behind her had tripled, and she passed several annoyed and worried faces as she returned to the mounds of clothing outside.

  With each load she grew faster at the job, though never as deft as her co-workers. Time crawled by, and she had lost count of the trips she’d made to the steam room when a bell rang and all work ceased. Relief washed over her in a dizzying rush. Most of the sewers set aside their work and rose, but many gathered up more fabric and carried it with them. Rielle guessed that they needed extra money, or else hadn’t made up their quota yet.