Angel of Storms (Millennium's Rule, #2)(88)

She had grown used to the thought she would never see her childhood home again. The prospect of starting over again was exhausting. The Travellers believed she would not be truly safe if she didn’t return to her own world. That made staying with the Travellers the best choice.

The Travellers wanted her to stay with them. She liked them, and their way of living. She liked Baluka…

The choice seemed obvious, but still she hesitated. A decision that would shape the rest of her life was not one to be making hastily. She needed time to consider all the advantages and disadvantages. But how much time do I have? Until we leave the market? Until the Travellers’ healer can try to make me fertile again? She looked down at the braid. I guess I have to make one of these to tie on Baluka’s wrist if I accept, so at the very least I have that long.





CHAPTER 13





The closer the Travellers came to the Gathering, the more excitement they expressed. The adults betrayed it in subtle ways, hurrying at preparations. The children swung from impatience to anticipation. Now, a world before the meeting place, nobody was hiding their excitement.

Jikari emerged from her family’s wagon to whistles of admiration. Her tunic was a deep orange-red that complemented her brown skin beautifully and was stitched with pale blue designs. The trousers she wore beneath reversed the colour combination. Her black hair had been braided into an intricate rope that hung over her shoulder down to her waist. The young woman’s mouth twitched as she kept her expression lofty and dignified. Then she stepped off the wagon and floated to the ground. Fine lines of Stain radiated out from where the girl had been standing when she’d drawn in magic, but they lingered only briefly before disappearing.

So it had been in all the worlds the Travellers had visited, Rielle reflected. In some, the darkness where magic had been taken disappeared so quickly that she barely had time to register it, even when she was watching for it. Yet the Travellers regarded this world as one of the weaker ones of their cycle and had encouraged her to draw as often as possible to replace the magic they used.

“Are you ready?” Ankari asked.

Rielle turned to see the woman examining her critically. “I… am I?”

The cloth of Rielle’s tunic and trousers was a deep red. Gold thread had been stitched all over the bodice, making it almost as stiff as leather. It was one of Ankari’s sets, saved from when she was younger, the trousers lengthened by the addition of gold cloth cuffs.

As more appreciative whistles penetrated the wagon’s walls, Rielle glanced through the window again. Hari stood where Jikari had been, dressed in a long green tunic cut on the bias that almost brushed the ground. It was more fitted at the top, the yoke stitched with multitudes of tiny black beads. Her hair fell like ribbons from a knot at the back. She, too, floated to the ground.

“You’re next oldest,” Ankari said, pushing Rielle to the door.

“But I can’t…” Rielle began.

“I will do it for you.”

The woman opened the door and guided Rielle into view with a firm hand in the middle of the back. As whistles rose from the crowd Rielle’s face began to heat. She glanced back at Ankari, who made a shooing gesture. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out into the air beside the wagon as if there were an invisible platform waiting for her.

There was. A solidness met her shoe. She wobbled a little as she brought her other foot forward to meet the first, then again as she began to descend. When the stony ground met her feet she let out a sigh of relief and quickly walked forward.

Baluka emerged from the crowd, smiling, to meet her.

“You are beautiful,” he said, his gaze travelling over her clothing.

“Thank you.” She looked down. “But I am going to be very hungry tonight.”

He frowned. “No? Are you unwell?”

She shook her head. “If I eat I will be sure to make it dirty.”

He laughed. “No, you won’t.” He extended a hand, so she took it and was guided into the crowd, which had turned to whistle at the next woman emerging from the wagons.

“When do the women get to…”–she whistled–“… at the men?”

Lejikh, standing nearby, glanced at her and chuckled. Glancing at the other men, Baluka smiled at their grins. “Any time you want,” he replied, to which they laughed.

“Now?” she suggested.

“There will be a good time later tonight,” he promised, then as the men laughed again he added, “When the dancing begins.”

As the oldest of the women, dressed in an elegant rich purple tunic against which her long silver hair contrasted beautifully, joined the family, Lejikh’s voice rose above the chatter.

“It is time to complete the cycle,” he said. “Take your places.”

As on all the previous shifts between worlds, Rielle stood between Ankari and Baluka. All took hold of their neighbour and a part of the circle of wagons. Lejikh checked that all were present, then the Travellers began their chant. Since Baluka had stopped opening his mind to her she hadn’t been able to understand much of the verses, though the more words she learned the more details she’d come to recognise.

This time, however, the phrases she identified were not about landscape or climate, but people. She recognised the words for marriage, birth, dance, feast and family, all linked with words of plenty like “many”, “large”, “hundreds” and “a thousand”. The latter related to cycles and number of Travellers, if she had translated correctly.