“Would you like to take a closer look?” He was gazing up at the distant domed ceiling, still illuminated by her flame.
“Yes.”
“Do you remember how to levitate?”
Rielle winced. “Remembering how wasn’t the problem, as I recall.”
He chuckled. “Practice and concentration, Rielle. That’s all you need.”
“It’s a very long way up.”
“It is. Come over here.”
She followed him to as near the centre of the room as they could get between the mounds. Turning to face her, he looked down at the ground between their feet.
“Still the air between us,” he instructed.
She drew in magic slowly, taking it in from many points at once as he’d taught her, slowly creating the radiating Stain lines that all other sorcerers managed with ease. Concentrating on the air just above the floor, she willed a circle of it to still.
A chill touched her ankles, confirming that she’d succeeded. Taking a step forward, she was relieved when her foot didn’t sink through it to the floor, as it had so many other times she had attempted this. Dahli moved onto the invisible disc and took hold of her shoulders in anticipation of a bumpy ride. She grasped his arms. Pausing to breathe once, then again, she gathered her courage and will and made the disc rise.
It did so smoothly, but she did not loosen her grip on Dahli’s arms. It was easy to hold the disc above the floor when her mind had a good sense of where the floor was, but the further they rose the harder it was to keep an accurate awareness of it. She stared beyond their feet, knowing that at any moment Dahli would tell her to look away, or close her eyes, and rely entirely on her mind’s awareness of the ground below.
But he didn’t, perhaps because she was eventually forced to stop judging the distance with her eyes because the floor was too far away to focus on accurately. Even so, she didn’t look up, not wanting to distract herself from the task.
“Stop, Rielle,” Dahli said.
She did, and held them still. Now that they were motionless, she looked straight ahead, beyond Dahli, to the nearby wall, and managed to avoid making the mistake of shifting her awareness of the ground to the wall.
“Look up.”
Taking a deep breath, she held it, let it out slowly, then raised her chin and let her gaze travel higher. Don’t get distracted, she told herself, don’t lose focus. She looked up at the ceiling.
Which was no ceiling, her eyes told her, but countless imperfect glassy cones crowded together and pointing towards the floor. Stalactites! Of ice!
The firmness beneath her feet turned mushy, she slid through and fell.
Immediately the air thickened around her, slowing her descent. She knew how Dahli had done it, since he’d taught her the same trick, but it was not something she could do quickly enough yet. A new solidity formed beneath her feet, slowing her descent, but her knees weren’t expecting it so she sank into a crouch, lost her balance and toppled backwards. She caught a glimpse of Dahli throwing his arms out and tipping sideways before billowing clouds of darkness rose up to obliterate all.
Grit filled her eyes. Her lungs protested against an invasion of particles. Coughing savagely, she struggled to her feet and heard Dahli hacking and spluttering nearby. The ground was no longer flat and firm, but uneven and crumbly, and she stumbled to her knees.
The air abruptly cleared as the particles were thrust to the floor by magic.
“Are you… hurt?” Dahli managed to get out between coughs. She shook her head. He nodded. “Follow… me.”
She got up and stumbled towards him. Dahli stepped off the garden bed they’d landed on, turned and held out his hand. She took it and they descended to solid stone.
As Dahli turned to face her she put a hand to her mouth to hide a smile. His face was smeared in black dust, eyes comically bright and red-rimmed. As he examined her his eyebrows rose and his mouth quirked into a smile.
They both burst out laughing, the sound filling the room with echoes.
“Sorry about that,” she said, when they had finally calmed enough to talk again. She pulled her scarf from her head and shook the dust out, then began to wipe her face. Something about the result of that brought a fresh gust of laughter from Dahli. She pretended to be offended, but only wound up giggling helplessly.
He sobered first, sighed and crossed his arms. “Ah, Rielle. I don’t have to tell you what you did wrong, do I?”
She shook her head and handed him the scarf. “Practice and concentration.”
“You are getting better,” he assured her as he wiped his face. “That is the highest you’ve taken us.”
Looking up, she frowned. Her light had flickered out, her connection to it lost in the panic of the fall. Dahli had created a new one, but it hovered nearby and did not penetrate the darkness. Creating a new light, she sent it up to the ceiling. It was easier to see the pattern was formed by icicles, now. “There’s no ice down here.”
“No. Though it may seem cold to us, the air in here is dry enough that most of the drips that come off the ceiling evaporate before they hit the floor.”
She looked at the pockmarks all over the undisturbed crop beds. A few must survive long enough.
“Did they rain down more in the past, watering the crops? And did sorcerers provide light–or did they grow plants that thrive in darkness?”
“No, no and no.” Dahli looked up again. “The ice ceiling was once thin enough to allow in light. Water was brought in through pipes.”
“Were you here when the garden was being used?”
He shook his head. “It was abandoned before I was born. There are paintings of it in the galleries and on other worlds.”
She shivered, wondering how thick the ice was now. Somewhere above was the frozen surface of the world, bathed in sunlight that burned skin despite its lack of heat.
Yet down here it was warm enough for people to live comfortably. Dahli did not know how the subterranean city was heated, or how the air remained fresh. He’d told her of natural caverns beyond the edges of the city filled with strange plants growing in the light filtering down through cracks, and of areas sealed off deliberately, words carved into the walls warning about poisonous fumes.
The city hadn’t been fully occupied for half a millennium at least. When Dahli had first arrived, fewer than a thousand people remained, and that number had continued to diminish during his lifetime until, before Valhan had disappeared, only a few hundred lived in the palace. Only a few dozen had returned or been hired since the Raen’s reappearance.
It was not the glorious realm she had imagined, where thousands of artisans created ever more beautiful objects for the Angel, or even a grand palace worthy of the ruler of worlds. Other than her and Dahli, the people occupying the palace were servants of one kind or other, the seamstress and cook the closest to an artisan among them. It would take a lot of work to restore the palace to a shade of its former glory. She doubted the Raen would do it himself. More likely he’d bring people in, but not for a while. After a twenty-cycle absence, re-establishing his authority as the ruler of all worlds took priority.
What that involved she did not like to ponder, though some “nights” she had no choice, as she lay awake and questioned her decision to come here. During the “day” she was kept too busy learning magic to think about much else. Time in the city was dictated by the steady count and hourly chime of a huge timepiece at one end of the Arrival Hall of the palace. It was the only way residents knew when to wake, sleep and eat.
“Shall we make our way back to warmer, brighter parts of the city?” Dahli asked.
“Yes. If we walked slowly enough, would I miss today’s classes?”
He chuckled. “Not at all. I can walk and teach at the same time.”
She groaned. “Don’t you ever have a day off?”
“Not unless the Raen orders me to,” he replied, in a sudden tone of absolute seriousness.
As she examined him he looked aw
ay, extending a hand in the direction of the palace and waiting for her to begin walking. She did, but could not help glancing at him again, looking for a now familiar fleeting mix of intensity and sadness in his expression.
He referred to himself as Valhan’s “most loyal”. Most loyal what? she had wondered since. Friend? His manner was too servile. Servant? Not that servile. Ally? He did not like the term, and had pointed out the first and only time she’d used it that no agreement existed between him and Valhan.
Perhaps he has served Valhan for so long they have the understanding of old friends, despite their roles as ruler and follower.
Perhaps there was something more. She itched to read his mind, but respected him too much to ignore his request for privacy. His loyalty seemed genuine and unwavering, though, and she found that reassuring, reasoning that no man who was a true monster could surely have earned and kept it for this long.
She shook the dust off her scarf as best she could and draped it over her head again. Hopefully the servants would be able to rescue it and her clothing. Though simple in cut, the fabric of her dress was finer than the best fabric her parents had ever dyed. It had no sleeves, and fitted snugly around her waist and chest. Beneath it she wore a fitted long-sleeved garment made from a soft, stretchy cloth of a construction she’d never seen before.
Her mother would have thought it all terribly immodest. My mother would have been ashamed of a great deal of what I’ve done since I left Fyre. Which wasn’t the reason she had begun wearing a scarf again. The triangle head covering made her feel she was dressed with the dignity expected for a palace. And it kept her neck and ears warm.
“As I have said before,” Dahli began in the tone he used when teaching, “three factors decide how powerful a sorcerer is: their location, their reach and their natural talent. Your reach is extraordinary, but you have little natural aptitude for magic. Whether this is because you are a Maker or due to you never being allowed to practise magic freely until recently, I cannot say.”
“The Travellers thought it was the latter.”
“However,” he continued, “skill can make up for the lack of natural talent to some extent. Skill and knowledge. I am giving you the knowledge faster than you might normally gain the skill, because I may not always be available to teach you, but you can still practise. That is why I set exercises for you to do when I am absent.”
She sighed. “And when am I supposed to sleep?”
He paused. “Ah. I do tend to forget that you have not yet learned to pattern-shift.”
They had reached the end of the long corridor that had led to the crops room. A stone stairwell missing what must have once been a wooden railing descended from there. Dahli led the way down, keeping to the wall side.
“You’ve done well so far, Rielle. You’ve absorbed what a child learns over many cycles in under a quarter of one.”
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
“It won’t.” He chuckled. “You have no others around to compare your progress to.” He took several steps before speaking again. “Some people have more talent for one kind of magic over the others. You may still find one that suits you.”
“What kinds are there?”
Dahli didn’t answer until they reached the bottom of the stairs. They proceeded along a tunnel wide enough for the two of them to walk side by side.
“Teachers throughout the worlds divide magic into five applications: movement, stillness, world travelling, mind reading, and pattern shifting. Moving or stilling are the most basic uses of magic, and, as you know, moving produces heat and stilling creates cold. Mind reading comes as naturally as learning to speak and I am not surprised to learn that you could do it as soon as you reached a world with enough magic to allow it. I doubt this was your particular talent, however, as I have never encountered anyone who had difficulty with it or an exceptional proficiency. A sorcerer’s ability to read minds is only ever limited by their strength.
“World travelling… well, it is too early to instruct you in that, but it is as different to moving and stilling as they are to each other. It requires more magic than all the other applications, but as much skill and knowledge to do it safely. You have struggled to learn this before, so I doubt it is what you have a talent for.”
“All that’s left is pattern shifting.”
“Yes. Pattern shifting takes very little magic once you grasp it, but it is the hardest of the applications to learn.”
“What is it used for?”
He turned to meet her eyes. “Altering the very substance of the worlds.”
She considered his serious expression and when he did not elaborate she smiled. “Examples might be more useful.”
His mouth twitched with amusement. “When applied to one’s self, it can heal any wound and be used to change your appearance and your age.”
A thrill went through her. Valhan had said she would learn to stop ageing. “I suppose it will be a long while before you teach me that.”
“I won’t be teaching you that,” Dahli replied.
She caught her breath. “He changed his mind?”
“No. Valhan always teaches pattern shifting.”
“Because… pattern shifting is his particular talent?”
Dahli chuckled. “He is talented in all. How else do you think he became ruler of all the worlds?”
She nodded. “I guess with no less than that.” Then she shrugged. “I am relieved to note that I am not destined for such greatness, since I am talented in none.”
The look he gave her was sharp, and she instantly wondered if she had said the wrong thing. But his expression softened.
“You will be a great sorcerer one day, Rielle.”
Disturbed by the certainty in his voice, she looked away. “So why does Valhan allow no one else to teach pattern shifting?”
“Because the worlds would be so much more dangerous if every sorcerer capable of it could cheat death.”
She considered that. “This way, even sorcerers who might be equal to him in strength will eventually die. He only has to wait, to be rid of his enemies.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “There are no sorcerers as powerful as he.”
“What of the prophecy?” She frowned as she tried to remember what the Travellers had told her. “What is it called, again?”
“Millennium’s Rule.” Dahli’s tone was disapproving.
“Do you believe it’s true?”
He scowled at the passage before them. “No, I don’t believe it. But others do and that can be as dangerous.”
She nodded. “So if many lesser sorcerers united, with the right knowledge, they could defeat him?”
“Yes.”
“Have they tried before?”
“Yes.”
“And failed, obviously. How did he survive? How does he prevent it happening again?”
Dahli’s expression softened. “I don’t think you’d be happy knowing the answer to those questions, Rielle.”
She looked away and nodded. Over a thousand cycles Valhan must have killed countless people, either in his defence or for the safety of the worlds. After a while it must be tempting to kill off anybody who looked as if they might cause trouble in the future. Was there truth in the rumours that Valhan killed sorcerers only for the misfortune of being strong?
She sighed. “I understand that a man in his position has to make hard choices in his defence and the defence of those he cares for.”
Did Valhan care for anyone? Since arriving in the palace she had seen him fewer times than she could count on both hands, and always the encounter had been brief. He was not one to give away much of his thoughts and feelings in his face or manner. She could only try to read him from his actions, but she wasn’t seeing any of those either. All she could judge him on was the fact that he had brought her to his world, arranged for her to be taught magic, and hadn’t killed her.
Falling into a companionable silence, they continued back to the palace. When they reached
the unassuming side door through which she always left the building her feet were tickled by a faint vibration.
Dahli snapped to attention, back straight, eyes focused somewhere in the distance. “He’s back,” he said. An unnecessary warning, since she’d experienced the sensation several times now and knew its meaning. “We must hurry. He… he may want a report on your progress, and we both need to wash and change clothing first.”
“Yes,” she agreed, though with none of his urgency. Each time Valhan had visited he’d asked after her training, but he showed all the interest of a peer who was being polite. “But I doubt it’s the top item on his to-do list for today. More likely at the bottom.”
Dahli had quickened his stride, plunging down a passage that led towards their rooms, but now he paused and looked back. “When the Raen commands his most loyal to tackle a task, it is not at the bottom of his to-do list.”
She suppressed a laugh at his indignation, not completely sure if he was joking or not. As he hurried on she lengthened her stride to keep up.
“He never seems all that concerned.”
“That is not his way.”
“And he must have more pressing things to worry about.”
“I assure you he is very interested in your training.”
She shrugged, though he was in front and couldn’t see the gesture. “Why? I’m not important.”
“He feels you are, therefore you are.”
“I can’t see why. If he needed more sorcerers to help him he could easily find one with more aptitude than I have. I’m better at making magic then using it. I’m better at using paint than magic, too. He obviously doesn’t want me for my company, and I’m hardly… well…”
“What?”
“Ah… never mind.”
He glanced back, then stopped.
“You hesitate to speak. Now I’m very interested. Go on. Out with it or I’ll insist you meet him now.”
She looked down at her filthy clothes. “I’m no great beauty.”
His eyebrows rose. “He has no interest in you in that regard.” He turned away. “You wouldn’t be the first to wish it were otherwise.”