They leaned apart to peer around either edge of the canopy. Ankari stood at the hill top, beckoning.
“Is it time?” Rielle asked as she got to her feet.
“No. The meeting is mid-afternoon. All the leaders will have arrived by then.”
They walked up to meet Ankari. The woman held up Rielle’s drawing materials.
“People want you to draw them,” she said.
Rielle smiled. “I’d love to.” It would, at least, keep her mind from the meeting. She took the paper, board and sticks.
“Baluka. Your father wants your help separating two of the male lom,” Ankari added.
He nodded and hurried away. Falling into step beside Ankari, Rielle walked to the plateau. The number of canopies had tripled now, some set up next to the earlier ones to form a larger sheltered area. Ankari introduced Rielle to members of two new families before settling beside her daughter and other members of Uouma’s family.
A friendly argument started immediately over whom Rielle should draw first. She raised her hands to silence them, and moved to sit opposite Marta. There were “ahs” of approval, and the old woman smirked shamelessly.
Conversation soon resumed as Rielle began to work. She let the words blow over her like the brisk wind that stole under the canopy from time to time. They talked of the worlds they had visited during the cycle just passed–of politics and trade, natural disasters and wars. It was not long before the Raen’s name was spoken, making Rielle’s hand freeze involuntarily. She forced herself to continue, her next mark going awry so she had to smudge it out again. When she looked up again, Marta was watching her, but quickly returned to her stitching.
“I did not believe it at first, but we soon saw…” someone said.
“He’d been there just three days before…” another added.
“Has he visited any family yet?” an old man asked.
A pause followed the question, then denials all around.
“How can we be sure the deal between us still stands?”
“We can only assume it does.”
“He’d make it clear to us if it doesn’t.”
“Of course it does.”
They were speaking slower and louder now that the conversation involved many more people. Rielle found she could understand most of what they were saying, guessing at the meaning of unfamiliar words from their context.
“We can’t stop trading. And we don’t know where to find him, so how can we ask?” a woman said, throwing up her hands.
“I wish we could be sure.”
“Has he changed any other laws since returning?”
“No.”
“Not that I have heard.”
“Doesn’t appear so.”
“He gave the owners of the Worweau Market permission to keep the market going, if they recorded who arrived,” Ankari told them.
“That’s interesting,” Uouma said. “But then, how can it continue when nobody is allowed to travel there from other worlds?”
“The implication was that traders also might be given permission to travel there.”
“Will this affect our trade?”
“Less than the Raen’s disappearance had.”
“It could be profitable, for those of us who visit the market.”
The drawing of Marta was finished but Rielle kept refining it, not wanting to draw attention while a discussion of the Raen was underway. As the conversation moved back to trade she decided it was safe to put the drawing aside and begin another. Taking hold of the sheet, she looked up to ask if Marta would like to see it, and found the old woman watching her again. This time Marta smiled.
“You are a Maker.”
Rielle froze again, and heard silence spread outwards as those who had overheard turned to regard her, their eyes alight with interest.
“Yes,” Ankari confirmed on Rielle’s behalf. “Let’s see the drawing, Rielle.”
Handing the sheet to Ankari, Rielle slowly relaxed as it was handed from Traveller to Traveller, earning appreciation and, to her amusement, some “helpful” criticism. She murmured thanks to both, then her attempts to choose another subject were overridden as all decided she must draw Sadeer working on her bridal clothes. Instead of returning to a discussion, the Travellers began to show each other their handiwork, and Rielle had to set aside her drawing several times to admire beautiful stitchwork, weaving, wood carving, basketry, jewellery and even ceramics. She had finished Sadeer’s face but not filled in the hair when Baluka appeared at the edge of the canopy, beckoning.
Ankari patted her on the arm in a silent gesture wishing her good fortune. Rising, Rielle handed the woman her drawing materials, dusted off her hands and wound her way through the Travellers to join Baluka.
“It’s time,” he said, winding his fingers in hers as he led her away. She was growing used to him doing this. His touch was becoming familiar and comforting.
The leaders’ canopy was at the centre of the plateau, set far enough apart from the rest that even robust discussion from within or without did not distract. Unlike the spontaneous sprawl within the other canopies, a circle had formed consisting of mostly middle-aged to elderly men and women. A quick estimate told her that somewhere between seventy and eighty people formed the circle. She resisted the urge to peer out from under the canopy. Were there really thirty-five to forty families occupying the hills around them?
Then Baluka opened his mind to her and she looked at him in surprise.
“It is to ensure no misunderstanding occurs due to your limited grasp of our language,” he explained.
She saw that he had volunteered to do so, despite knowing how it would expose the depth of his feelings for her to all. She could see he was determined to keep his attention on his task, and not distract anyone with more private thoughts. Yet that determination spoke of how deep his affections were, and the emotion that this sparked within her… was discomfort.
He is truly in love with me! I had no idea his passion was so strong. But I don’t deserve it. Not when I don’t—
“This is Rielle Lazuli,” Baluka told the assembly. He turned to her. “Not all families make it to every gathering. We only need more than seventy in order to make decisions for the benefit of all, though those decisions can be challenged and reversed at a Council–a gathering of a hundred and fifty leaders.” As a man similar in age to Lejikh but broader in the chest rose from the circle, Baluka gestured towards him. “This is Yaikha, this Gathering’s nominated Guide. He will direct the discussion.”
Baluka stepped back, his normally cheerful face flat and serious. He sat down next to his father. Yaikha invited her to sit in the centre of the circle and settled beside her.
“We have heard tales of your rescue,” he said. “But the tale is best told by one who was there.” He smiled briefly. “Tell us your story.”
So she did. She described briefly the land of her birth, of the Angels that all believed in, and of their laws against using magic. She explained that she had broken that law and was sent to the Mountain Temple, where terrible things had happened before the Angel put a stop to it. She skimmed over her time in Schpeta, explaining only that she had started a new life far from home and nothing of significance had happened until the city came under siege.
Then she related how the Angel had arrived and ended the siege, saving the city. He had told her she had replaced the magic she had stolen, and more, and he offered her a place as an artisan in his world. Then she struggled through a jumble of memories: travelling between worlds, Inekera testing her powers, another journey and then abandonment in the desert.
“Which is where Baluka found me,” she finished.
Yaikha allowed a long pause to follow, as all absorbed what they had been told. Then he leaned towards her.
“The name of the Angel?”
“Valhan,” she said, trying not to make it sound like an admission.
“Your world was poor in magic?”
“Yes, compared to all I have t
ravelled through since.”
“And he took a great deal of it before he left?”
“Almost all of it.”
“When in Diama you saw a portrait of him in Lord Felomar’s palace, yes?”
She shook her head. “I saw a man who looked similar in appearance. Remarkably similar. But I do not believe it was the same man.”
“Despite the name and the similarity?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you so convinced of this?”
She paused to consider. “First, his eyes. The Angel’s were kind. The man’s in the portrait were not. Val–the Angel–ended the cruelty at the Mountain Temple. He gave me a new life far from there. He withdrew from the attention of others at the palace, seeking solitude and quiet. Everything I have heard of this Raen…” She shook her head. “He is different. He would have sought to rule my world. He would have forced or recruited artisans to make the magic he needed to escape. He would have forbidden priests from using magic. He would have used the Mountain Temple for his own purposes. He… he is not the Angel.”
Yaikha nodded as she ran out of words. A little breathless, she made herself breathe slowly and deeply, readying herself for the question that must come next.
“So you believe there are two men with the same name and appearance?”
“I do.” She straightened and glanced around the circle. “I have been told the Raen can change his appearance. The priests taught me that Angels have protected the… my world for thousands of years–a measure of time similar to cycles. I know now that the Angel Valhan’s realm is outside of my world, as must be the other Angels’ realms. If that is so, then worlds other than mine must have worshipped them as well. I believe the Raen took on an Angel’s name and appearance in order to deceive and… and that when the Angel Valhan left me with Inekera to check that his world was safe it was the Raen’s mischief that he feared.”
Yaikha’s eyebrows rose as she considered this. “Ah. And Inekera thought him the imposter?”
Rielle’s heart skipped. “Possibly.” She hadn’t thought of that.
“This is an interesting theory,” Yaikha said. He looked around the circle. “Does anyone have questions?”
“I have,” a man with an impressively long beard said. At Yaikha’s nod, he looked around the circle. “Are there any signs the Raen has changed his ways since his return?”
“That he has grown a softer heart and gentler hand?” Yaikha asked, then chuckled. He looked around the circle. “Do the accounts and rumours suggest it?”
The men and women shook their heads, some glancing around to confirm that all agreed. Rielle thought of the killing of the sorcerer at Worweau Market and shivered.
“I have a question,” a middle-aged man with reddish hair said. As soon as Yaikha nodded, he addressed his fellow Travellers. “If this Angel is the enemy of the Raen, is it not also a risk to take in one he favoured?”
A murmur rose among the leaders, but Lejikh’s voice cut through it. “The Raen is not known to be so ruthless that he would kill someone who had a brief and unknowing association with an enemy. If he did, the majority of his immortal life would be spent finding and dealing with them.”
“How do we know it isn’t?” the woman who had spoken earlier muttered.
“I don’t think any of us has reason to think it is,” Yaikha replied, and none spoke up to disagree. “As my father and his father before him said: the Raen may not hesitate to kill, and we may not agree with his reasons, but he does not do it for enjoyment.”
Rielle was intrigued to see nods all around the circle. The Guide’s manner of speaking, almost an intonation, suggested that the Travellers had an understanding of the Raen gained over centuries and passed down each generation. They must know a lot about him–bits of information picked up over the cycles and shared at meetings like this.
“More questions?” Yaikha asked.
No reply came. The Guide turned to her and smiled. “Thank you, Rielle. You may go now. We will discuss what you have told us and send Baluka when we have decided.”
She nodded to him, then to the circle of leaders, then left the way Baluka had brought her into the circle. Alone, she walked back to the canopy where she had been sitting with Ankari. Baluka’s mother was not there, but Jikari and Hari were and they dragged her down beside them and demanded she draw a portrait of them together. She was seized by a sudden fear of losing them, these two women who had welcomed her into their extended family like another sister.
Then her earlier discomfort returned. Is it fair of me to want the Travellers’ approval to marry Baluka so that I can enjoy the company of these women? Is it fair to accept his proposal if I don’t love him with the same passion with which he loves me?
The voice of her aunt echoed in her memory. “Love doesn’t have to come first. Your uncle and I didn’t love each other at the beginning, but we learned to respect each other, and love grew out of that. I was glad my parents chose him for me.”
I respect him, don’t I?
Yet that was the heart of the problem. It felt disrespectful to lie. To pretend.
Then tell him, she thought. Or it will eat you up inside.
But what if the knowledge that she did not love him ate him up inside instead? Better, then, that she was the one to suffer, since she was the cause of the problem. And it might not come to that, anyway. She might yet grow to love him. How can I not? He was, after all, kind and attractive. Maybe it was only that her fondness for him was a different sort of love than her love for Izare. She was a different person now. She would love differently now.
Her drawing of Hari and Jikari came out badly, but they admired it all the same. She apologised and promised she would do another one. It was her last sheet of paper, so she could draw no more, but Sadeer had completed her wedding outfit and all were taking it in turns to stand up and examine the elaborate stitchwork and luxurious fabric.
Before Rielle had a chance to look, a hand slipped around her arm and she turned to see Ankari nodding back in the direction of the leaders’ meeting. Baluka had emerged, his face in shadow as the second sun was behind him–having not quite followed its sibling over the horizon.
“Go to him,” Ankari said.
Weaving her way past the other Travellers, Rielle emerged into air growing colder as night approached. Out of the light, she was able to make out more of Baluka’s face, but not enough to gauge his expression. Her heart quickened. Her stomach seemed to hover, as if on the brink of plummeting to the depths of her. Can I stay, or will I have to start again?
As she reached him, he took her hands and squeezed them.
“They approved it,” he said, then exhaled.
She sighed with relief. His eyes reflected the lights of the canopy behind her. She opened her mouth, but suddenly wasn’t sure what to say. Aware that he was watching her, she lowered her gaze.
“Come with me,” he said.
He tugged her hands, drawing her away. “But your mother…?”
“She knows.”
Letting him lead, she considered the future that lay before her, unimpeded. She would marry him. They would travel the worlds and raise a family. One day his father would turn over leadership of the family to Baluka, and a great part of that responsibility would also fall to her. From what she had seen, it was hard work, sometimes dangerous, sometimes exhausting, but a life the Travellers were happy with. A life not unlike the one she had dreamed of as a child, in which she defied tradition and joined her brother in travelling to far places to buy the dyes and fabric her parents had traded in.
They reached the road. Baluka created a flame to dance before them as they started down it, and she soon realised he was taking her back to the wagons. Perhaps simply so they could talk alone. Perhaps he had something else in mind. Would I mind, if he did? After all, she was no innocent in these matters, though it had been years since she had last enjoyed physical contact with a man. The thought of it did spark excitement within her. Though if I c
onceived, it could be awkward, if we have to wait another cycle before we marry.
But he drew her past the wagons and down the steep slope beyond, and she soon realised he was taking her to the little shelter he’d built that morning. The wind had blown the blankets into a roll against the base of it, so they untangled and spread them out again. The air stilled and grew warmer and she guessed he was using magic.
They settled, close enough that she could feel the warmth and firmness of his thigh against hers.
“Rielle,” he said. “You are happy at the news.”
“I am,” she told him.
“But you… pause.”
She looked down, thinking of her earlier deliberations. It would hurt him needlessly to tell him she didn’t yet love him, especially as there was every chance a passion for him would grow anyway.
“I understand,” he said. “You have been with us for many days. You may need many more days to decide.”
She shook her head. “I have decided.” Reaching under her tunic to where she had fastened the braid, she untied it. “That does not mean I have no doubts. I am not young. I have seen things and done things that taught me to see trouble in every choice.”
He nodded, his expression sympathetic. Listening.
She opened her mouth to try to explain more, but not yet knowing all the words she closed it again. As she brought the braid into view she saw his eyes widen and then rise to meet hers.
She paused, then wrapped it around his wrist. “I don’t want to leave,” she told him as she tied the knot. “You, and your family. It would… it would make me… unhappy.”
A grin flashed, and then faded to a smile. He looked at her searchingly, then reached out to touch her face. As he leaned forward she knew he was going to kiss her and she smiled, and the world seemed to tilt so she moved forward to meet him.
Their lips met. Warmth. Soft skin. A gentle but firm press, then exploration. Angels, he is a good kisser, she thought, taking hold of his arm to steady herself. He did not seem inclined to disengage and she was in no hurry. Maybe I wouldn’t be unhappy if he has more in mind…
Angel of Storms Page 29
