Thief's Magic

by Trudi Canavan

  Rielle searched his face for some sign of deception and found none. What choice do I have? None, as usual. She had used all the magic she’d stolen and there was no more to take. She could not fight five priests. He gestured to the road and she began to walk, sick with dread and despair.

  CHAPTER 23

  The void – the Stain – continued almost all the way to the temple. In the last hundred or so paces they passed out of the edge of it. Everything brightened, and she felt shame for creating so much ugliness and darkness.

  Then it occurred to her that she could take magic again if she had to. That sent a rush of crazed determination through her. She would do it, if she had to. If Sa-Mica had lied to her she would have nothing to lose.

  The Mountain Temple was as forbidding up close as it had been from a distance. The walls were an extension of the sheer face of the cliff, broken by tiny windows scattered in a disordered pattern over the walls. The entrance was a large, square opening, broken hinges indicating where doors had once hung. The road didn’t meet this doorway. A wooden bridge spanned a deep crevasse between the two.

  Looking up, Rielle saw faces in some of the windows. Male mostly. The few women wore the same expressions as the men: curiosity. She saw no children. As she, Sa-Mica and their escort passed through the doorway they entered a courtyard. Here a few more men and women were occupied in ordinary domestic tasks like drawing water from a fountain and boiling it to wash clothing. A priest appeared to be making furniture, and one of the women was spinning. All had paused to watch her. She saw speculative looks, smiles and knowing glances exchanged.

  It didn’t look like a prison. Yet a place this remote would need servants to look after domestic chores so that the priests’ full attention could be devoted to their prisoners.

  She shivered, remembering what Sa-Gest had claimed that meant.

  Opposite the entrance was another wall. They approached a pair of intricately carved doors that looked relatively new. Another priest stood outside them. He smiled at her, then looked at Sa-Mica.

  “Welcome back, Sa-Mica. I’m afraid he wants to see both of you straight away.”

  Sa-Mica nodded. “I expected as much.”

  The man stepped aside and opened the door. “Is everything…?”

  “Ask me when I come out.”

  “Very well.”

  They entered a generous hallway. On the right were several closed doors, on the left a pair of grand, highly decorated ones. Sa-Mica stopped outside the latter. Halting beside him, Rielle looked back and realised they were alone. The scarred priest laid a hand on the door, then paused, drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. A shiver of alarm went through her as she realised he was gathering his courage.

  “His name is Valhan. Don’t be afraid,” he told her. “Remember the stories I read to you.”

  He pushed the door open. Rielle followed him into a temple hall. It was smaller than the temple her family attended. Rows of five seats fitted either side of a narrow aisle. Four narrow windows on either side let in the cold mountain light. At the rear was a faded spiritual.

  A chair had been placed where the priest usually addressed the worshippers. As Rielle’s gaze fell on its occupant she froze. In the edges of her awareness she knew that Sa-Mica had stopped beside her and she heard the door behind her softly close, but all of her attention was caught by what she was seeing. And sensing.

  The finest radiating lines of Stain appeared and vanished around him. The spaces between them appeared white in contrast. His hair was black, but where the light touched it the strands shone a deep, impossible blue. His jaw, cheekbones and brow were both finely shaped and yet unmistakably masculine. His skin was paler than even Greya’s had been, and without a crease or flaw. Yet he gave no impression of youthfulness. His eyes were black and ancient, and gazed into hers. Revealing nothing. Seeing everything.

  She heard herself gasp. Disbelief clashed with all she had been taught. It lost. After all, she had painted him and his kind so many times. How could she not recognise and accept what he was?

  Fear filled her then, but to her surprise it ebbed as quickly, leaving calm, acceptance and fascination. There was no escaping this. And she had been ready to meet his kind, less than an hour earlier.

  He lifted a hand and beckoned. She obeyed, but as she drew nearer uncertainty filled her. Should she hurry or approach slowly? Bow or kneel, or more? Nobody had ever schooled her in the protocols of meeting an Angel.

  “Bow,” Sa-Mica whispered, following at her side. “But don’t look down. He doesn’t like you to conceal your face.”

  As they stopped in front of the Angel, she did as she was instructed, Sa-Mica following suit. The Angel’s gaze shifted to the priest.

  “Lord Valhan,” Sa-Mica said. “This is Rielle Lazuli, formerly of Fyre.”

  The Angel turned his enigmatic gaze to her again. “The one who stripped the mountain of magic.” His voice was not as deep as Sa-Mica’s, but it was melodic and strangely accented, and he spoke with slow deliberation. There was no note of question in his words. He was an Angel. He must know everything.

  “Yes,” Sa-Mica replied. “I was escorting another – a priest who was to be stripped of his rank, but who I kept unaware of his fate so that he would come willingly. He was born here and believed us still to be as we were. When I was called back to the supply station I foolishly left him with Rielle. He told her what he believed to be the truth, and she … I believe she acted in her own defence.”

  Rielle lowered her gaze. Why was Sa-Mica telling the Angel this? Surely the Angel knew already.

  “Where is this priest?”

  “Dead. She pushed him over the cliff.”

  “Deliberately?” The Angel turned to look at her.

  Rielle’s heart skipped. “No. I … guess he wasn’t expecting me to try … anything.”

  “Or you did not know your own strength.” He smiled. Though warned not to, she suddenly could not breathe and had to look away. Oh, to have the chance to paint that smile …

  “But you used magic before this,” he said. “Tell me why. Tell me everything, Rielle Lazuli. From the beginning.”

  So she did. She explained that her aunt had taught her to hide her ability to see Stain. She skipped ahead to the day the tainted had abducted her. She spoke of her affection for Izare and her parents’ ambitions. From time to time he spoke of something in her thoughts – something she intended to omit or skirt around – and she realised he could read her mind. Whenever he did, the delicate radiating lines of Stain would deepen enough that she could sense them, then slowly fade away.

  Finally, there was no more story to tell.

  “I am sorry,” she said, hanging her head in shame. “I should never have tried to find the corrupter, or repair what she did to me.”

  “It took courage to approach her,” he said. “And your intentions were selfless. Your mistake was in failing to inform the priests. Still, your reluctance is understandable. When laws are inflexible they may cause what they are meant to prevent. This land’s laws would have you die for killing Sa-Gest with magic. That would be unjust and a great waste.”

  He leaned forward slightly and she resisted the urge to avoid his dark gaze. She could barely make out the line between corneas and pupils.

  “You are forgiven, Rielle Lazuli. And I offer you this: if you vow never to use magic again, unless to defend yourself, I will give you a second life. You cannot return to your home. You must not contact those you left. You must travel to a distant land where you will be a foreigner and a stranger. You must work to replace the magic you have stolen. And you can never speak of me to anyone. Can you do this?”

  Overwhelmed, all she could do was nod. It was more than she deserved. More than she had even imagined was possible.

  “You have discovered a powerful ability today,” he warned. “The memory of it will be a temptation difficult to resist.”

  She shuddered. “All it has brought me is trouble. I will not be te
mpted to use it again.”

  “I give you permission to, if your life is in danger and you have no other choice.” He straightened and looked at Sa-Mica. “Schpetza will suit her talents. You will take her there.”

  The scarred priest nodded. She recalled his words to her as they had entered he hall: “Remember the stories I told you.” Determination filled her. She would paint every day for the rest of her life, she decided. First to replace the magic she had used, then in gratitude to the Angel. She bowed her head.

  “Thank you, Lord Valhan.”

  “Go,” the Angel said. “Rest. Eat. You have a long journey ahead of you.”

  Sa-Mica bowed. Rielle did the same, then followed him out of the hall, all the way resisting the temptation to look back over her shoulder at the Angel. Only when the priest paused to open the door did she steal a glance back. The Angel – Valhan – was watching them, elbows braced on his knees. While his eyes were shadowed, she could see that his lips formed a faint smile.

  Tearing her eyes away, knowing that the most incredible thing that had ever happened to her was about to become just a memory, she followed Sa-Mica out of the hall. He closed the door and looked at her.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Astonished.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out again. “And immensely grateful.”

  He nodded. “It will not be easy, starting a new life in a strange place.”

  She thought of Greya, constantly dealing with curiosity and hostility for being a foreigner and looking different, and nodded. “I know. But it’s better than being locked away, or dead. And I have a chance to fix my mistakes. The right way. Did he truly say I could use magic to safe my life?”

  “Yes. Only as a last resort.”

  “That goes against everything we’ve been taught.”

  “That you’ve been taught,” he repeated. “Fyre is particularly strict. Other lands not so much.”

  “And this … Schpetza?”

  “It would still be better to keep your ability a secret.”

  She nodded. “Well, I’ve spent so much of my life keeping secrets, I don’t think I could break the habit anyway.”

  He smiled. “Let’s get you a room and arrange for a bath and a change of clothes. It won’t be long before we’ll be leaving such luxuries behind again.”

  PART ELEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  TYEN

  The first impression Tyen had of the next world was of a white shape hovering above a grey one, with a lattice of random dark vertical lines between. As the view grew more distinct the lines resolved into the trunks and branches of a tree, the grey into a sky. A pretty scene, though it was upside down.

  Unfortunately, he was also arriving some distance from the ground.

  There was no stopping his emerging into this new world, however. He did not have enough magic left to resist the pull. Looking up, he tried to estimate how far it was to the ground. Perhaps he could …

  He felt fiercely cold air on his skin then the rush of it passing. He instinctively braced himself, curling his head towards his chest and wrapping his arms around it.

  Then the breath was knocked out of him as he slammed into the ground, shoulders first.

  He lost track of time then, as a sudden need to drag in huge gulps of air seized him. Pain lanced through his head.

  What is happening?

  Vella did not reply. Now that they were out of the place between worlds he could no longer hear her voice. The pain slowly subsided to a hovering ache, and he was able to think.

  You can’t breathe between worlds, he remembered. And I was in there for quite a while.

  A different sort of pain was replacing the one in his head now. It spread down his back. The cold.

  With difficulty, as his upper body had plunged some way into the snow, he got to his feet. He dusted flakes from his shoulders and back, and looked around. Mountains surrounded him. He was on top of a hill, within a broad valley. Trees spread in all directions. They were bare but for a coating of white.

  He began to shiver. Ignoring the cold, he unbuttoned his jacket and shirt and pulled Vella out.

  Recognise anything?

  He watched the words form.

  Not yet. The landscape is unremarkable. This species of tree grows in many worlds. The best way for me to identify a world is by the structures humans make, though after a thousand years there may not be much left standing.

  Tyen shrugged. I suppose it doesn’t matter. All I need to do is gather more magic and go home. Snatches of what he’d seen flashed into his mind. There was a dreamlike feeling to the memories, as if he’d seen everything through a white mist. Which he had, though not literally. He shook his head and began to rub his arms to keep warm. What I don’t understand is why Ysser didn’t warn us of what would happen if we took magic from within Tyeszal. Why wouldn’t he?

  To do so would be to reveal a weakness in the castle that could easily be exploited by an enemy.

  So it had to be kept secret. Why did the king agree to us trying this within the spire, then?

  As Ysser said, it was the strongest magical area in Sseltee. He also said it was worth the risk.

  Tyen sighed. With magic at the spire moving north, drawn away by overuse in the Empire, the idea that Leratians might provide the solution as well as the problem would have appealed. And not only solve it, but make Tyeszal the place where magic came from. With control of a commodity in short supply the Sselts would have grown rich and powerful.

  Surely the reasons weren’t purely about money and power? Ysser and the king didn’t seem the type. I think they took the risk for the benefit of their people. But they had learned from Vella that Kilraker had betrayed Tyen. Why did they trust him to obey their rules about the magic in the spire?

  Because you did.

  The words were like a blow to his chest. So it is my fault?

  No. You did not know what Kilraker planned. You did not take the magic in the spire. If it is anyone’s fault it is Kilraker’s for ignoring their conditions and taking magic from within the spire.

  Tyen thought of the rope Kilraker had been so determined to keep hold of and shook his head. What was he trying to do?

  Remain in control of you, perhaps. Or be propelled along in your wake.

  Why wasn’t he brought through with me?

  While inanimate objects will travel with you, animate ones must be consciously taken. What little distance he did manage on his own he achieved by using the magic he took from within the spire.

  So stupid. A memory of the dark cloud of dust and the stump of the spire flashed into his mind. His stomach clenched. So many people dead. At least Ysser and Mig got away, along with the other gliding aircart owners and those who got across the bridges. Why did people live there if it was so vulnerable?

  People grow used to a constant but not obvious threat. They put it out of their minds. That’s how they can live near volcanoes or other natural threats without fearing the inevitable disasters.

  Someone must have made the castle that way. Perhaps they hadn’t realised their mistake until it was too late. For the king to abandon a home of such obvious symbolic power would have made him appear weak in the eyes of his people, too.

  After all the hundreds of years it had stood there, my visit led to its failure. I should go back. They will need help. There must be a way I can help them. I could help them rebuild. And treat the injured.

  But he was no doctor. Not even a trainee one. Would there even be injured to treat? Those who had fallen with the spire would surely all be dead. The rest would be angry. They would blame the Empire, and the Leratian visitors who had caused the spire to fall. Ysser would tell them it wasn’t Tyen’s fault, of course. But what if they didn’t believe him? What if they blamed Ysser? They might be more likely to, if Tyen returned and joined the sorcerer. And then there was the problem of arriving where the palace had once been, high above the fallen spire. Is it possible to control where you arrive in a world?
<
br />   Yes, but it will take time to teach you. And more magic. Better to learn the method in plentiful worlds than weak ones.

  Was this a strong world? He concentrated on sensing magic. It was there, but he could see no movement in it. Reaching out a little way, he drew some to himself then used it to create a flame.

  A flash of brightness and heat seared his eyes. He covered his face and jerked away, then diminished the flow of magic to the lightest trickle. Even then, the flame was unbearably bright. He extinguished it, then had to wait for his eyes to recover before he could see Vella’s page again.

  I gather that means we’re in a magically rich world.

  Yes. Your world was once this strong.

  Could it be so again if I take magic back there from here?

  Not solely by that method.

  How else … ah. The usual way. People generating magic through creativity. Which they would go back to, once the magic was all gone and the machines didn’t work. His world was not doomed to magical exhaustion for ever.

  Yes. I see you believe me now.

  Tyen smiled. Yes, I think I do. I …

  A movement caught his eye. Peering down into the forest, he saw dark shapes moving among the tree trunks, coming towards him. He instantly recognised them as human, and a tingle of apprehension ran through him.

  What should I do? Go back between worlds?

  You could. Or you could see what they want. You are a powerful sorcerer. Even as inexperienced and untrained as you are, you should have no trouble defending yourself against most other people – even sorcerers.

  He took in some magic and held it. Something made him pause, to wait before pushing out of this world. He watched the people coming closer, stopping to look up at him apprehensively as they approached, and realised he was feeling curiosity. He remembered what Vella’s reply had been, when he’d asked the best way to improve his skills and knowledge.

  “The best way would be for you to leave this world and its limitations, and seek out the best teachers of the worlds.”