Angel of Storms (Millennium's Rule, #2)(91)

Ankari said nothing of Baluka’s proposal as she introduced Rielle. “As for her story… Baluka found her, so he should do the telling,” she finished.

Injiki’s eyebrows rose. “Where is he?”

“With the leaders. Go save him.”

The young woman chuckled and headed towards another of the canopies. Ankari hooked an arm around Uouma’s and the pair started walking, Hari, Jikari and Rielle following. Looking ahead, Rielle noted that their destination appeared to be another canopy, near the centre of the plateau, under which many children were gathered. “How is Ulma?”

Uouma’s shoulders lifted and her reply was quiet and in an accent Rielle found difficult to decipher. The older pair talked quietly as they strolled across the plateau. As they reached the canopy Ankari stopped and Uouma continued on, calling out a greeting to the men and women within.

Ankari turned to Rielle. “Come with me,” she said. Looking at the other two women, she made a small gesture, and the pair did not follow as Ankari led Rielle back the way they’d come.

Looking at Ankari sideways, Rielle waited to see if this meant Baluka’s mother wanted a private chat with her. The woman’s expression was serious.

“Baluka told you of a Traveller who can… mend people’s hurts,” she began. “She lives with Yaikha’s family. Her name is Ulma. She can help you, if you want.”

Rielle winced. Ankari could only be referring to the damage the corrupter had done. The heat of embarrassment was quickly followed by a chill of fear. The magic that had made her infertile had hurt. Would healing her be as painful?

“How?” she asked, and instantly berated herself for asking such a foolish question. It would involve magic. Exactly how did not matter.

“Only Ulma knows,” Ankari replied firmly. “She must look at you first.”

As Rielle nodded and lowered her eyes, Ankari stopped and reached out to touch Rielle’s arm, her eyes full of sympathy.

“I know you fear. Do you want to see her?”

If she can heal me, why wouldn’t I let her? Rielle thought. She nodded. “What is the price?”

Ankari’s eye crinkled in amusement. “No price.” She started walking again, and pointed to a hilltop now occupied with wagons. “We ask Ulma now?”

Ignoring the chill that ran over her skin, Rielle nodded again. “If she is ready.”

“She will be,” Ankari replied with confidence.

They walked the rest of the way to Yaikha’s wagons without conversing, Ankari humming a tune Rielle recognised as one she’d heard other Travellers whistle or sing from time to time. They chose a less direct route to avoid the steep descent to the road, so by the time they reached the wagons the first of the suns was kissing the horizon and twilight began to turn the colours from the pale world to greys.

A sick feeling of dread took turns with impatience as Ankari exchanged greetings with the other Travellers and introduced Rielle. All had Uouma’s thick accent, so Rielle was reduced to nodding and smiling, repeating the appropriate phrases of greeting and noting the slight hesitation as they deciphered familiar words out of her own way of speaking.

Finally she heard Ankari ask after Ulma. All turned to regard a woman with long grey hair, watching them from the step of a wagon. A faint smile deepened the woman’s wrinkles and she beckoned.

The rest of the family returned to whatever they had been doing before. Ankari led Rielle to the old woman.

“Oliti,” Ankari said. “Are you well?”

“Yes,” the woman replied with a wry expression.

“Rielle wishes to see Ulma,” Ankari continued. “Is she—?”

“Come in,” a high voice said from within the wagon, then a string of words spoken rapidly, followed by a laugh.

The old woman rose stiffly and withdrew into the doorway. Ankari led the way up the steps and into a bright interior. The light of a floating flame reflected between thousands of bottles and jars made of glass, ceramic, metal and other substances Rielle could only guess at. The mingled smell of dried vegetation wafted from bunches of leaves and twigs hanging from the walls and ceiling. Between these were numerous dolls, exquisitely realistic, of young women. All had different hair, skin and eye colour, yet the same face–clearly made from the same mould.

A young woman sat cross-legged on an unmade bed. She looked no older than Rielle had been when she had met Izare. Yet the way the old woman regarded her with poised expectation, like a servant ready to do her bidding, hinted at a respect that eclipsed youth.

“Ankari,” Ulma said. “You are well.”

“Ulma,” Ankari said, with warmth and deference. “This is Rielle.”

The girl smiled at Rielle’s surprise. “You are not a Traveller.”

Rielle shook her head.

“Sit.” Ulma patted the mattress. “Drink oali with me.”

As Ankari and Rielle settled onto the bed the old woman brought out chipped ceramic cups, filled them with water which immediately began steaming, then mixed in a dark red powder. The drink was pleasantly spicy, though Ankari grimaced after the first mouthful and set her cup aside.

“Who seeks my help?” Ulma’s gaze moved from Ankari to Rielle, searching. “You are not unwell.”

“Rielle was harmed many cycles ago,” Ankari explained. “She cannot bear children. She does not know how it was done.”