Angel of Storms (Millennium's Rule, #2)(14)

“What…?” she said, then her throat froze as she realised what this meant.

I can’t be in the mortal world!

Which meant she was in Valhan’s world or another world. Unless… unless removing all the magic of her world had somehow made it fill with magic again. She sighed as weariness swept over her. She was tired of unanswered questions. I will know if I’m in my world when the stars come out. In the meantime, best concentrate on practicalities.

The shadows had grown longer so she knew it was late afternoon. She had no idea how much time had passed since she’d left Schpeta, but it had been evening then. An entire day had passed, though it didn’t feel like it. She decided to rest and wait for night so she had stars to navigate by. Sliding down into the coolness of a dune’s shadow, she tucked her hands out of the wind and closed her eyes.

She woke up shivering, blinking her eyes open to see a ceiling of black splattered with stars. It looked as if someone had taken a bucket of pink and purple sand and tossed it over a blanket–a blanket with a hole in the centre that the sand was spiralling towards like water going down a drain.

Untucking her hands, she brought them to her face and rubbed her eyes. The impossible constellation remained. It was bright enough to cast light on her fingers. Perhaps she was still asleep, dreaming. Everything felt real, though. She slapped her face, lightly then harder. She’d never dreamed of a pain as convincing.

The splash of stars was big enough to cover half the sky. Another broad band of them arced from horizon to horizon.

This could not be her world.

So was it the Angel’s world? She thought back to what he had told her. “She will bring you to my world when I am sure all is as I left it.” Had he communicated to Inekera that all was well in a way undetectable to Rielle? Had he met with Inekera when she had disappeared? If all was well, and this world was rich in magic, why hadn’t Inekera taken Rielle into this world to a safe place?

Whatever her reasons are, they don’t matter now. What matters is survival. Her mouth was dry, and she wished for water as the first pangs of thirst came. She pushed herself to her knees. What to do now? She was still shivering at the cold. Reaching for her jacket, she shrugged into it then slipped her stockings on. Taking the underskirt from her head, she untied the knots and put that back on too. Even fully dressed she was still cold, but not as chilled as before.

The Angel did not know that she was here. Was there a way she could contact him? The only way she knew how to speak to an Angel was through prayer.

So prayer it is. She knelt in the sand and spoke, her voice hoarse and strange in the silence. She waited. No answer came. No Angel appeared. Perhaps his attention was elsewhere. She could try again later. In the meantime she would seek a more hospitable place. Deserts could be cold enough at night to kill, and walking would keep her warm.

Wrapping her arms about her chest and tucking her boots under an arm, she started along the top of the dune. The stars provided a gentler light than the sun, but bright enough to illuminate the land all around. The view in every direction looked the same so she continued away from the marks of her earlier passing. Keeping to the tops of dunes where possible, she looked around constantly, searching for signs of habitation or roads. Valhan had spoken of other artisans living in his world, and there had been plenty of people in Inekera’s.

She frowned as she remembered the beggars and workers in the square. Were they being punished for wrongs committed in their lifetime? She was tainted. Perhaps when Valhan had invited her to his world he had really meant to punish her. Perhaps she had been abandoned here as penance. Perhaps, instead of tearing apart tainted souls, the Angels sent them here to die a second, slow and torturous death.

Perhaps she wouldn’t die, and her punishment was to never be released from the torment of thirst and sunburn.

No, he said I would join the artisans in his world and make beautiful things. He simply hasn’t noticed I’ve arrived, or worked out where I am.

From time to time she spoke a prayer, in case he was listening. She also checked the night sky, making sure she walked straight and not in circles. As time stretched she tried to keep from worrying too much by remembering the stories Sa-Mica had told her, during their long trek from Fyre to the Mountain Temple. Stories of tainted who had used far more magic than she ever had, and been forgiven. Tainted who had generated more magic than they had stolen from the Angels by spending the rest of their lives creating. As she had–though it had only taken five years.

She wondered how much magic she’d generated by weaving tapestries. Once or twice she had thought she could sense energy as she’d worked, but it could easily have been her imagination. Most of the time she had been too absorbed to notice anything else. A few times she had watched the other weavers working, hoping to sense the magic they were creating, but nobody got to sit idly in the workshop for long and she was soon given a task to do.

More magic would be created by artisans in her own world to replace what Valhan had used, but in the meantime it was empty of magic. That saddened her. Though magic had brought her and others so much trouble, in the hands of priests it was used to heal the sick. They would have to turn to the sorts of remedies and cures women cooked up in their kitchens, which were not as effective. People would die. Though probably not as many as die in wars fought with magic, she reminded herself.

Though the desert was cold it was still dry, and when her spit thickened she stopped praying aloud, instead reciting the words in her thoughts instead. Her stockings wore through, first one foot letting sand in, then the other. The soles of her feet, used to smooth inner soles, grew sore.