Thief’s Magic (58 page)

“It’s all or nothing,” Kilraker barked in reply. A faint ringing noise reached Tyen. Ysser’s eyes widened and he looked up at the ceiling. The old sorcerer turned back to Kilraker. His expression was pleading now, but Tyen could not hear what he said. He reached out to grab Kilraker’s shoulder but his hand passed through the man.

Tyen stopped pushing and felt himself drifting back. Kilraker had moved out of the world. Why? Was he following Tyen? Why was Ysser so angry and frightened?

Should I go back? Vella?

“
If you do it may be a long time before the magic you’ve used is replaced
,” she replied. The sound of her voice, so clear and human made his heart sing.

He had to go on. As he was propelling himself away again, he saw Kilraker suddenly stumble, reach out and grab Gowel. Since his hand didn’t pass through the adventurer, he must have returned to their world. Had he run out of magic?

The fading room abruptly brightened even further as a square of white appeared to one side. The doors to the balcony were open. Mig ran from the opening to the flying vehicle and climbed inside. His hand slapped the side and his mouth opened in a muffled shout. Ysser took a few steps towards Mig and paused to look back. He glared at Kilraker, raising a hand to point at the man, his mouth moving to words Tyen could not hear, though the tone was clearly accusatory. Then he turned and ran to the vehicle. As soon as he had climbed inside it slid forward and disappeared into the square of light.

Tyen stopped again, certain that Ysser would not have used the machine without good cause. Looking back at Kilraker and the others, he saw that they were staggering about, faces stretched with terror. Objects in the room were moving – swaying or toppling over. The whole scene was shaking.

What is happening?

“
Perhaps an attack on the spire?
” Vella said. “
Sseltee has no powerful enemies, but someone may be exploiting Tyeszal’s sudden lack of magic
.”

How would they know?
A traitor had told them, perhaps.
We have to go back and return the magic so they can defend the spire.
He stopped resisting the pull of his world and began drifting back.
Can I speed this up?

“
Yes, you just …
”

A low sound surrounded Tyen, loud enough to penetrate into the place between worlds. Something passed across his sight, turning all to grey. He sensed himself drawing near to his world.

Then the grey disappeared and a familiar view of a far-distant land opened before him.

This time not framed by a window or a door.

Silence followed. He looked down. A dark, roiling cloud billowed beneath him. Instinct made him lock himself in place.

Tyeszal was gone. There was nothing where he had stood moments before but air. Below it had been replaced by a great cloud of dust. He stared down at it, too shocked to think. Then a wave of horror rushed over him.

They’re gone. All the people … Why? What happened?

“
I don’t know
.”

He thought of the ringing sound Ysser had been so alarmed to hear. Had it been a warning? If so, then the occupants of Tyeszal might have known something bad was about to happen when it rang. But what?

Something Kilraker had done. He remembered Ysser’s words: “
No! Do not take from inside! You break our law!
” Kilraker must have taken magic from within the spire in an attempt to follow Tyen.

Kilraker was dead now. As was Gowel, and anyone who hadn’t managed to evacuate the spire. He could not imagine anybody having time to escape. Except for Ysser and Mig. And anyone else who owned one of the gliding aircarts. Looking around, he felt his heart lighten as he saw them, circling around the dust cloud as they descended. But far too few to account for all five hundred residents of the tower.

The dust cloud was clearing below, revealing a stump perhaps half the height of the former spire. Hollow, with the twisted fragments of staircases visible within. He could see ropes hanging down the outside, too.
The bridges!
Tyen looked up at the cliff. He could see the ropes hanging down where the bridges had once spanned the gap between cliff and spire. Tiny movements drew his eyes to long lines of people filling the narrow paths on the cliff face. People staring down, people huddled together, people covering their faces as if unable to face the sight below …

Tyen’s chest constricted. If only he hadn’t come here … but how could he have known what Kilraker would do? There was no undoing it. But perhaps, if he went back …

“
You will fall
.”

I could try to use magic to stop myself.
But all the lessons about aircart safety told him otherwise. He’d have to orientate himself with the ground, and it was too far away.

What can I do?

“
Move as quickly as possible to the next world before you suffocate
,” Vella said. “
You are running out of magic. The longer you stay here, the less likely you will have enough magic to reach another world
.”

But all those people … I should help them.

“
You cannot stay here, you cannot return, you can only try to reach the next world
.”

She was right. He had to get out of the place between worlds before he suffocated. He had to hope he still had enough magic to reach the next world, and that the world he reached was rich in magic so he would be able to gather enough to return.

Closing his eyes, he propelled himself away from the scene of devastation and towards the unknown.

R
ielle had thought the long days of walking in the desert had been tiring, but they were easy compared to the relentless upward climb into the mountains. She had noted that Sa-Mica had slowed and lengthened his strides and she found by copying him, concentrating on one deliberate step after another, it made the ascent a little easier. Sa-Gest kept pausing to catch his breath, then hurrying after them, or was so distracted by the scenery that he tripped on rocks that had fallen onto the road from the slopes above.

Whenever they rested, Rielle looked down at the desert in awe. She had never seen the world from above like this before. The road wound back to the village like a pale ribbon, then vanished into the sands. The dunes were not randomly scattered across the desert, but formed crescent-like curves all facing the same way. She itched to capture it in paint. In her mind she saw the colours she’d mix to make the right hues and shades.

By the end of the first day they’d climbed above the level of the hills. A steep drop now always fell from their right and a rock wall rose on their left. As dusk saw them still walking, Rielle had wondered if they would camp on the road or keep walking through the night.

Just as the last glow of the sun had faded they’d rounded a bend and come upon a small house built against the rock wall. It had looked too narrow to contain more than a corridor’s space within, but when Sa-Mica had lit his lamp and led them inside they’d found extra depth had been carved out of the rock. The room was large enough to fit two narrow beds with a space between. At the back a small spring dribbled down the wall into a basin, then overflowed into a hole in the floor.

The priests had slept on the beds. Sa-Mica had given her all three sleeping mats to lie on, so the floor wasn’t as uncomfortable as the brick bench had been the night before. Even so, the next morning she was as stiff and sore as she had been the first morning after leaving Fyre. Her legs were unused to walking uphill.

They’d risen early but walked slowly. Eventually Rielle’s muscles had loosened and she began to walk more easily, but a gloom settled upon her and refused to lift. They were out of the desert, but it would be no easier to survive here than out in the sands if she managed to escape.

The thought of getting away was now a constant hum in the back of her mind. With Sa-Gest always there, strengthening her conviction that, while she deserved punishment, nobody deserved to be subjected to his depraved manipulations for the rest of their life. She had grown more and more convinced that the Angels could never have meant it to be this way. If they had, then she did not want to meet them in the afterlife. She would rather not exist at all.

As the morning wore on, the road took them along the left side of a steep valley between the arms of two peaks. She caught glimpses of buildings at the end of the valley. The sight sent a chill through her, and a growing panic. Was this the end of their journey? Would she never get an opportunity to try for freedom? If not then what could she do? Hope that what Sa-Gest had hinted at was a lie to frighten her into obeying him?
Then why won’t Sa-Mica tell me anything?

It wasn’t until they were almost upon them that she realised the buildings could not be their destination. The structures were houses, their doors and windows open and people walking freely in, out and around them. None of these people were priests. It was just another village.

She braced herself as the first of the locals saw them coming, but instead of staring and cursing they simply continued with their business. A few nodded to Sa-Mica as he passed them. Their lack of concern ought to have been a relief, but Rielle suspected it meant they were nearing the prison. Why else would the locals be so familiar with the sight of a tainted that they could ignore one?

It was more of a hamlet than a village, too. Nine houses faced the high side of the road. The largest was in the middle, with a low wall extending from the front to encompass wooden benches and tables, and heavy wooden beams supporting a sheltering roof. The tables were empty. To Rielle’s surprise, Sa-Mica led them through the gap in the wall and sat down at one of them.

A stocky man immediately emerged from the building. Dressed in warm clothes covered with a leather apron, he looked like a metalworker. He glanced at her, gave Sa-Gest a longer look, then smiled at Sa-Mica.

“Welcome back, Sa-Mica,” he said. “Heading to the mountain?”

“We are, Breca,” the scarred priest said. “We’ll have the usual.”

The man chuckled. “As if there was a choice.”

He disappeared inside. The view of the valley, unobstructed by buildings on the other side of the road, captured her attention. She tried to commit all to memory. Perhaps, if she was to redeem herself with work, trying to recapture this would give her something other than her prison to paint. Or she would try to draw it in her mind’s eye, if things became too unbearable.

The air was colder here, and now that they were at rest she began to shiver a little. Breca emerged with three plates of steaming food. On each was a generous serving of bread, baked meat and root vegetables. Sa-Gest frowned when he saw that Rielle had been given the same as he and Sa-Mica, but the scarred priest said nothing and began to eat, not even pausing when Breca returned with three mugs of iquo.

Nobody spoke as they ate. The meat tasted wonderful, though perhaps that was because she had craved it so long. Narmah … as the name entered her mind Rielle was pierced by guilt and sadness … Narmah had told her when she had her first bleed that regular servings of meat would help ease the weakness that could accompany it. That sent a twinge of concern through her that rapidly expanded to apprehension as she counted the days on the road. They had travelled for so long that she was overdue. Lack of good food and unaccustomed exertion could cause such a delay. Rielle drank the iquo quickly, trying not to consider the other possibility.

All too soon Sa-Mica had them walking out of the hamlet. The other effect of travelling for so long without sustaining food was that the iquo had affected her more than usual. Maybe that was the intention. Maybe it was meant to keep her so relaxed or off balance that she wouldn’t attempt to escape at the last moment. But as the effects slowly wore off she realised that was not the case. Even in her weary state, she would sober up before she arrived.

The road wound back and forth as it climbed the end of the valley, then plunged through a crack in the left side to emerge into another, deeper valley. She could see it continuing on, carved into the undulating side of the steep right-hand wall, disappearing into folds then emerging again. Looking even further beyond, she could see where the wall was vertical, extending further out into the valley. The jagged shape at the outermost point was too regular to be natural.

The Mountain Temple
, she thought, shivering at the sight. The gloom expanded within her until she was sick and bloated with it.
Where I’ll spend the rest of my life.

Something inside her rebelled and she had to resist a mad urge to run back down the road.
There’s no point
, she told herself.
I wouldn’t make two steps before Sa-Mica stopped me.
The chain around her neck felt heavy. She made herself look down and count her steps. She tried to keep her mind blank. When she failed at that, she tried to recall all the stories that Sa-Mica had told her. She imagined herself painting the valley from the hamlet, choosing colours, grinding pigment, mixing it to Izare’s formula, combining colours, preparing the board, applying it …

A call shattered her concentration. Sa-Mica stopped and looked back. Turning, Rielle saw a young man hurrying towards them and felt an irrational pang of hope. A rescuer?
Don’t be ridiculous.
She didn’t recognise him, but he wore similar clothing to the man who had served them their meal. They waited in silence as he caught up with them.

“Sa-Mica,” he panted. “A man named Dorth arrived soon after you left, and asked for you. He says he has a message for you. He’s waiting at Breca’s.”

Sa-Mica frowned. He looked at Rielle, then at Sa-Gest, then at the messenger. Finally he sighed and nodded.

“I will go back.” He waved towards the hamlet. “Please return and tell him I am coming to meet him, but can only stop briefly.”

The man hurried away.

Sa-Mica faced Sa-Gest. “Wait here. I will be back as soon as I have received the message.” He added something else in a murmur.