Angel of Storms (Millennium's Rule, #2)(145)

“You can now improve your sight,” he reminded her.

A little magic, a little flexing of will, and her eyes adjusted. Pale and thin men, women and children were walking a few hundred strides away. They were heading towards her and Valhan, moving with the steady, economical strides of people who lead nomadic lives. Equally spindly animals strode gracefully among them, large bundles bound to their backs. Each was led by a rope that pierced their whiskery noses and made Rielle wince in sympathy.

The group had seen her and Valhan. They slowed to a stop at the crest of the next dune. Rielle did not seek their minds, these being Valhan’s people.

“You may read them,” he said quietly, then started forward.

Stretching her senses, she detected apprehension and curiosity. Focusing on the closest man she learned he was the head of this group, and the people were his extended family. He was thinking that while good manners dictated he feed and entertain this stranger and his companion, he could not let them detain the group long as he already expected to arrive late at the market tomorrow.

They are much like the Travellers, she thought. I wonder if the Travellers remind Valhan of his birthplace, and if that is why he allows them to move between worlds when he forbids it for others.

Keeping to the tops of the dunes, Valhan led her on a short, winding journey to the group. A few steps away he placed the forefingers and thumbs of his hands together and pressed one pair to his forehead and the other to his chin, and spoke in a language of low, murmuring sounds. Rielle read the meaning from the leader’s mind.

“I am Valhan, sorcerer, returned to see my homeland. May I walk with you a while?”

The leader returned the gesture, pleased at the stranger’s manners but disbelieving of Valhan’s claim to be Limn since he had the fleshiness of a farmer or city-dweller. “I am Wayalonya, trader, heading to market,” he replied. “You are welcome.”

Valhan glanced at her. “The women walk behind,” he murmured. “Give the same deference to Wayalonya’s wife. Do not speak to any man. Do not call out to me.”

She nodded. As Wayalonya began to walk, Valhan fell in step beside him and the family followed suit. Rielle searched the women’s minds until she found Wayalonya’s wife, Naym, first among the women at the rear. A little older than Rielle, Naym was much younger than her husband. She did not smile as she met Rielle’s gaze–none of the Limn had smiled so far–but her mind was full of curiosity.

Rielle copied the gesture Valhan had made. “I am Rielle, sorcerer, here to see Valhan’s homeland.” She noted that, for the first time, she had identified herself as a sorcerer, not an artist or weaver.

“I am Naym,” the woman replied. “Second wife of Wayalonya. Welcome.” She indicated that Rielle may fall into step beside her.

None of the other women spoke, or showed much expression, but when Rielle looked in their minds she was astonished by how much they were communicating with quick glances and small gestures.

The stranger is very handsome.

Yes he is.

Is this woman his wife?

I don’t know. She doesn’t have the marks.

Why does she cover her head? Is she bald underneath?

He is young enough for another wife.

For you? Never!

No, I can see hair. Long, straight and dark.

He is a city-dweller. He is fat.

I like it. I want a head cloth like that.

He is not too fat. And he is rich.

How do you know he’s rich? Because he’s fat?

Because he is a sorcerer.

Rielle held back a laugh and hoped her face didn’t betray her amusement. The women’s conversation, hidden from the men because they walked behind them, was as lively as the weavers’ in Grasch’s studio.

I’ve assumed he didn’t have a wife, she mused, since there was none in the palace, but it’s not impossible. She might live elsewhere. I don’t think he’d be an easy man to live with. Or love. He hides so much of himself, and what he’s shown me hasn’t exactly been all sweetness and kindness.

“Where are you from?” Naym asked.

“Another…” Rielle paused, not seeing the word for “world” in Naym’s mind. She made a vague gesture at the horizon.

“From the north?” Naym suggested.

Rielle shook her head and made the same gesture a few more times, each time in another direction.

“All over the world?”

“No. Another world.”

The woman did not understand. She had no knowledge of other worlds. Rielle considered trying to explain, then decided against it. She could not guess how the woman might react to the idea. Besides, Rielle was not here to teach the Limn about the worlds, but to learn about the Limn.

Naym did not mind her questions, and asked plenty. She was so scandalised that an unwed young woman and man were travelling together that she began to herd her guest out of earshot of the younger women, until Rielle told them she was his niece.

Rielle kept her questions to matters of trade and customs. Though the women made no decisions openly, in trade or the path of their own lives, in private they had more influence in the family’s affairs. It was permissible for women to ask questions of another man’s wife or female relative, but not of men. For men it was rude to ask questions of other men, so the men were now caught up in an elaborate constrictive game of extracting information from their guest, and he from them, without anyone asking a direct question.