So though it was night here–or the darker gloom that passed for it in this world–it had actually been a short day for her. That explained why she didn’t feel sleepy.
The Travellers probably intended to adjust to the local routine, since they were staying for a few days. She ought to as well. But though she left the bath warmed and relaxed, her mind would not settle once she had donned the simple shift left for her on the bed and slipped under the covers. Instead of worrying about her future, her mind returned to the conversation at dinner that had caused Baluka to close his mind to her.
The “Raen”, she thought. A title, not a name. The most powerful sorcerer of the worlds and, from the sounds of it, more than magically powerful. Ankari had looked worried at the news. Lejikh not so much. Or rather, afraid but curiously accepting as well. And Baluka? Excitement had been radiating from him almost as if he had narrowly missed meeting an Angel.
That thought sent a shiver through her entire body.
“He was gone for more than twenty cycles,” Felomar had said. She didn’t know exactly how twenty cycles compared to her world’s years, but she had picked up from Baluka that the Raen had disappeared when he was a small child. He wasn’t much older than her.
“If it was populated, the occupants would eventually generate enough magic for him to leave again,” Lord Felomar had said.
“Perhaps it only took twenty cycles. And when he left he’d have had to…” Baluka had begun saying. She had read from his mind the point he’d been about to make: that if the Raen had left as soon as he had enough magic to do so, he’d have emptied the world of all magic.
As the Angel had, to her world.
She turned onto her side. He must think Valhan is the Raen now. He believed Angels were ordinary sorcerers. Or an extraordinary sorcerer. Then she remembered Baluka’s explanation: “In some worlds he is worshipped as a benevolent god.”
She turned over onto her back. That’s why he closed his mind to me. He didn’t want to offend or frighten me.
Baluka, and perhaps Lejikh and Ankari, might now be wondering what to do about her. They might be worried that this powerful sorcerer would expect them to deliver her to him. They might fear that Inekera would punish them for saving someone she might have tried to kill.
But Valhan was no sorcerer. He looked like the angels painted on the spirituals and in the temples of her world. Paintings that were hundreds of years old. And why would a powerful, dangerous sorcerer pay her the slightest attention, anyway? Surely there were more skilled and talented artisans to be found, among all the worlds. Why go to the extra effort of taking her with him?
She sat up. She ought to reassure Baluka and his parents, but she had no idea where they were, and could not easily ask the servants where to find them. And would they even believe her? They did not know what Angels were and were unwilling to consider they might exist. It would not matter soon anyway, though she would feel better knowing she had not given them cause for anxiety. She lay back down and stared at the underside of the bed’s canopy.
Some time later she gave up on falling asleep. She rose and examined everything in the room. Heavy drapes concealed tall windows and she tugged one aside. To her shock and amazement, the building was even bigger than she had realised, with a large, square inner courtyard surrounded on all sides by walls and windows.
A flicker drew her attention upwards and she gasped. She had glimpsed the sky on the way to the dining room earlier, noting that while the misty atmosphere above had darkened, night here was far from fully dark. But now, under the misty spread of cloud, huge coloured lights moved. Muted by the atmosphere, they ranged from blue to green, brightening almost to yellow from time to time.
I’m definitely not going to sleep now.
Moving to the chair she’d tossed her clothing onto, she changed quickly. As she had hoped, one of the windows was a door that opened to the courtyard. Pushing through, she walked outside, head tilted to admire the sky. Whatever happens, and despite everything, I’m glad I got to see this.
Eventually footsteps drew her attention away. Two men were walking towards her. One she recognised immediately as Lord Felomar. The other was a servant. As they reached her the lord smiled and spoke, then pointed at the old man’s forehead. The old man spoke, then stopped and waited, regarding her expectantly. She looked from one to the other. The lord repeated his gesture, and the meaning dawned on her. They were inviting her to read the servant’s mind.
Tentatively she extended her senses. At once she saw that her guess was right. The lord had chosen the old man, Pel, to be their translator. Felomar spoke again.
“The Shadow is putting on a good show tonight,” the old man translated. She understood that this was the god his people worshipped.
Is it an Angel? she wondered, looking up. From Pel’s thoughts she learned the god was a different sort of entity.
“Have you ever seen him?” she asked.
“No, he has no physical form,” Felomar replied.
What a strange religion, she thought. Though I suppose I believed in Angels long before I met one, and most people in my world have never met one.
“You could not sleep?” Felomar asked. She shook her head. “Neither could I. Would you like to see more of my home?”
“I’d love to.” Baluka had spoken of a library full of treasures, she recalled.
Felomar led her back into the house. They strolled along a corridor that ran the length of one of the vast wings, visiting several rooms. Some were meant for formal gatherings, others for entertainment. All were embellished with lavish decoration and furniture. She asked questions haltingly, drawing the words she needed from Pel’s mind. The old man was full of memories–of people filling the enormous dance hall that could have housed Fyre’s main temple, of Lord Felomar as a child playing in a room filled with games, of important visitors including the Emperor, and of the various duties of the men and women in the lord’s employ.
They reached two huge doors to what Pel knew was Felomar’s favourite room of the house. It housed a collection of paintings gathered over many generations and from many worlds. Rielle’s pulse quickened, and as she followed him into the room she caught her breath. It was almost as big as the dance hall, though the ceiling was not so high. Some of the paintings were as large as the front wall of her family’s dyeworks. Statues populated the floor. Pel moved to one side and turned a dial on a panel. At once lanterns spaced between the paintings flickered into life, bathing the room in a soft light and revealing the contents of the artworks.
Felomar began to explain the origins and age of each piece, leading her down one wall at an unhurried pace. Sometimes he also told her about the artist, or workshop, that had produced the artwork. She saw landscapes more strange and spectacular than anything she had glimpsed in Baluka’s mind. The variety of beasts and plants, people and clothing depicted seemed endlessly varied.
But it was the mediums used in the artworks she was most fascinated by. Simple paintings made up of a few swipes of a brush hung beside works so fine she could not make out a single stroke. Paint had been applied thickly, or was translucent, or applied in layers. To her disappointment and amusement, Izare’s invention of oily paint was a common discovery in most worlds. She had to concede that her own world was far behind in artistic invention compared to most.
As they neared the end of the room the paintings’ subjects changed to portraiture. Felomar explained who each subject was. One painting in particular dominated the far wall, but she did not let it draw her attention away from her host and guide. Yes, I know you’re important, she thought at it, but you can wait your turn. Only when she had neared the far corner did she glance at it.
A familiar dark stare froze her in place.
It’s him!
And yet it wasn’t. It was slightly wrong, as if the artist had not succeeded in capturing a likeness, or had only painted his subject from a description. As she stared, she noted the differences. No blue light reflected
from the dark hair. The skin was no longer utterly, unearthly white, but merely pale. The fine ridges of the jaw, cheekbones and brows were right, however. The eyes…
“You’ve seen him before?” Lord Felomar asked.
Though his tone was light, he could not quite hide the tension in his voice. There would be consequences to her answer. She examined the servant’s thoughts and her heart sank. Of all the people her Angel had to look similar to, why this one?
“No,” she replied. “He looks a little like someone I have met, but it is not him.”
“Who does he remind you of?”
“A holy man from my world.”
She turned towards the painting they had been about to examine before she had noticed the big portrait. Felomar did not take her cue. Instead he walked over to stand before the not-Valhan painting. She followed reluctantly. Averting her eyes from the face, she examined the background. It was of a room, but it contained nothing significant. Walls, a table, a plant growing in a squat bowl.
“I can’t imagine he posed for this,” Felomar said. “He doesn’t seem the sort. Most likely it was done from memory. I’ve been told it is remarkably accurate despite being two hundred cycles old. Yet no painting of him can be considered entirely reliable, since he can change his appearance.”
Rielle’s stomach turned over. That will only make it harder to convince the Travellers that this isn’t Valhan. Can I convince Felomar not to show this to the Travellers? Or has he already?
The cold gaze of the man in the portrait was starting to make her skin crawl. She sighed and shook her head.
“What is it?” the lord asked.
“It is obvious to me it isn’t the person I know. It’s like… Sometimes you meet someone who looks a lot like a person you know. You’re convinced they are twins. When you put the two next to each other you find they look nothing alike. It’s the similarities you notice when you see them separately, but the differences you see when they are together.”
He frowned. “You would see the differences if both men were here?”
“I can see the differences even though one is not here.”
He nodded. “There’s something else I want to show you.”
She followed him to a waist-high cabinet to one side of the painting. The cabinet’s top was one sheet of flawless glass, a wonder in itself. Beneath it three books had been carefully arranged, pages open to display more portraits. A jolt went through her as she recognised the face. Printed in black ink on paper, it was white, enhancing the uncanny resemblance to the Angel. A word was written in the border of one of the images. As she looked at it, the servant noticed and the meaning sprang into his thoughts: the Raen.
“There is another book,” Felomar said. “I haven’t shown many people this one.” He reached over the cabinet and pressed it somewhere in the back. A panel sprang open, hinging forward. From the cavity beyond he drew another tome, discoloured with age. The pages crackled faintly as he opened it to a page near the beginning, marked by a faded blue ribbon. Another version of the same face, shockingly familiar, appeared.
Across the top were the words from the other book: The Raen. Along the bottom was another word–the title written in another language, she assumed, until she read it from the servant’s mind. It was a name.
“Valhan,” Pel whispered, then caught his breath and looked up at his employer.
Rielle stared at the word. Her heart had frozen. How can he have the same name? Doubts crowded in. Surely that was too great a coincidence.
But if it is true, if they are the same…
Then she had been tricked. She, and Sa-Mica, and all priests who had believed Valhan was an Angel.
But the man she’d met, whether Angel or not, had been good and kind. He had stopped the terrible abuse of the tainted at the Mountain Temple. He had been warm and forgiving. His eyes did not have the coldness of those of the man in the painting.
Maybe it is the other way around. Maybe this man they believe is a sorcerer is an Angel, but because they have not been brought up with the truth they cannot see him as more than human.
Which meant she would never be able to convince the Travellers or Lord Felomar that the Angel who had invited her to his home was not a powerful, feared sorcerer. They would think she had been deceived and pity her if she remained loyal to her beliefs and memories.
It didn’t matter. Rielle drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and made herself smile at Lord Felomar.
“I do not know this man.”
He regarded her thoughtfully, then nodded. “Would you like to see more of the paintings?”
“Yes, but… another time?”
He nodded. “Of course. It will be my pleasure. I can see you have a love for art and it makes me happy to see others enjoy my collection.” He looked around. “I should try to sleep as well. Do you mind if Pel escorts you back to your room?”
“Not at all.”
“Then I wish you a good night.” He bowed, then moved closer to his servant and bent so his mouth was close to the man’s ear. “Do not fear, my old friend,” he murmured. “It has never been said or written that it is forbidden to know his name. Even so, it would be best if you didn’t speak it aloud again.”
Pel nodded. As the lord straightened, the servant turned to Rielle and gestured that she should follow. She bowed to the lord as Baluka had taught her, then followed Pel out of the room.
CHAPTER 10
After a while the light filtering between the curtains brightened. Rielle climbed out of the bed and moved to the crack, parting the cloth to see the courtyard in what constituted daylight in this world. Everything seemed altered, yet nothing was different. The change was within herself, she realised. Do I now believe that Valhan is a thousand-cycle-old sorcerer?
No. But the Travellers did. And Lord Felomar, who would be helping her after the Travellers left. We believe different things, and I will have to learn to live with that.
Baluka had warned that people in Diama were easily offended by those who did not share their religious ideas. She’d assumed they’d disapprove of her disbelieving in what they did. This situation was the other way around. Though, I am not offended that they don’t believe in the Angels, but I would be if they tried to make me disbelieve. After all, she had all the proof Angels existed that she needed: she had met one.
But a nagging thought surfaced, as it had many times since she’d returned to bed, when she recalled Felomar’s words: “Yet no painting of him can be considered entirely reliable, since he can change his appearance.”
A tap at the door made her heart skip. She answered it to find a servant outside holding a bundle of fresh Traveller clothing. The man pointed to her forehead as Pel had done, so Rielle looked into her mind. Lejikh wanted her to join him. He would lead her to him when she was dressed and ready.
Weariness washed over Rielle as she closed the door. If she had slept at all after returning to her room, it had been in snatches she hadn’t noticed. She changed quickly, then returned to the door. The servant bowed and led Rielle to the end of the corridor then down another. He stopped at an open door, bowed, and walked away.
Rielle could see Ankari sitting inside the room within. She hesitated, gathering strength for the conversation she expected. Lejikh was standing by a window and Baluka sat opposite his mother. They were silent, each staring pensively beyond their surroundings, each looking as if they’d had as little sleep as Rielle.
Then Baluka noticed her and sprang out of his chair, smiling.
“Rielle,” he said. “Come in.”
His mind opened to her and she saw that her expectations were correct. They wanted to talk to her about Valhan. She frowned and Baluka’s smile faded. He beckoned. As she entered, Lejikh poured a red liquid from a pot into a glass. “Drink this,” he suggested, his meaning clear in Baluka’s mind. “It helps to wake you up when you’re tired. We’ve all had some.”
She took the glass and sipped. Bitterness tempered by something sw
eet filled her mouth. Her temples constricted but after a moment the pain faded and weariness subsided. Lejikh sat next to his wife. Rielle took a chair near Baluka’s.
“I need to tell you a story,” Lejikh said.
To her surprise, his mind was suddenly open to her. He paused to gather his thoughts and decide where to begin.
“When I was a child I looked forward to visiting one world of our cycle more than any other. The family we traded with were not as rich as Felomar, but the mother was sister to the land’s ruler. We would stay several days and the Traveller children would play with their three offspring.
“The oldest, Roslie, was a little younger than me, yet she was always in charge, always inventing games for us to play. Each cycle I would worry that something would change and we would not get along as well when we met again, but each cycle we only grew to like each other more. When we began to grow into adults we started to see life differently, but we promised each other this would not alter our friendship.
“One day I arrived to find her dismissive towards me. I sought the source of this coldness, and discovered that arrangements had been made for her to marry.
“We had never discussed or expected anything of each other but friendship. Outsiders can marry Travellers, and Travellers can leave to marry outsiders, but she was royalty and the eldest, and her value to her family was as much in whom she would marry as how she invested her wealth and power. She could never marry a Traveller.”
Lejikh’s smile was crooked. “Yet when she saw me again, and when I heard what was planned for her, we began to want what we couldn’t have. It grew more desirable the more unattainable it became.”
Ankari murmured something and Lejikh smiled. “Of course we thought we were in love. Maybe we were. It is different when you are young.” He shrugged. “I made an appeal to my parents but though they were sympathetic I could not talk them into allowing a marriage. It would have ruined trade with that world. It would have meant altering our path. I offered to do the risky work of finding another world with desirable goods to buy from a suitable source, but they still refused.