Successor''s Promise

  “What about you?” he asked. “Would you help the Emperor invade, if he asked?”

  “No.”

  “What if he made it clear you would not be welcome in Murai if you didn’t?”

  “I’d move on.” She shrugged. “I’m here only for the work, which is not so hard to find that I have to participate in a war to stay employed.”

  “What if Murai was invaded?”

  She grimaced and shook her head. “I do not get involved in local conflicts. You never know whether you’ll make it better or worse.”

  He nodded. “As Valhan told you.”

  “Close enough.” She grimaced. “And here I am, getting involved.” She looked down at the Claymars’ demands. “What are we to tell those we represent?”

  Tyen looked at the papers on the table, then at Rielle’s hands, resting where he’d expected the Emperor’s terms would lie.

  “I don’t fancy the prospect of conveying unreasonable demands back and forth to endless meetings like this—despite the opportunity to enjoy your company. I say we behave as reasonable people do, and discuss what a mutually beneficial agreement might look like.”

  Her smile was not wry or grim this time, but open and full of admiration and eagerness.

  “Yes! And present it to both sides, as a suggestion. They may not like two otherworlders inventing terms for them, but if we behave more sensibly than they do, we may shame them into negotiating properly.”

  “It’s worth a try.”

  Tyen rose and moved to the entrance of the shelter. At once, Abler emerged from a doorway.

  “We need paper and something to write with,” Tyen told the man. He paused, thinking of the uneven surface of the reed-woven table. “And boards to support the paper.”

  Abler nodded and withdrew into the building. Returning to his seat, Tyen poured water into the glasses. Soon the emissary entered the shelter with the items Tyen had asked for. As the man left, Tyen pushed a board, writing stick and half of the paper towards Rielle.

  “So, where should we begin?”

  They started with the original source of contention between the worlds, then worked over the other issues the Claymars had raised in their long list of terms. Hours passed, the time barely noticed. The work was not easy, but they had both seen many different systems of government and trade in their travels, and knew enough of Murai and Doum to guess what ideas they could suggest that would not be dismissed as too strange or unworkable by the Claymars and Emperor.

  They stopped when Abler and two women interrupted to serve a meal. The garden was now bright under a midday sun. Tyen realised they had barely touched the food on offer. For a while they ate in silence, then Rielle looked at him thoughtfully.

  “Tarran told me much about you,” she said. “At least, what he knew of you from before Liftre closed.”

  Tyen nodded, then frowned as he realised what that meant. Tarran was one of the few people he’d trusted to know about Vella. Tarran might not have told Rielle about Vella, but she would have learned of the book by reading his mind. It was unlikely she hadn’t, in the five cycles she’d known the old man. Then there’s no reason to hesitate to ask her for help in restoring Vella.

  He opened his mouth, then closed it again. It was possible she had never read Tarran’s mind out of good manners, or Tarran had never thought of Vella when she had. Though the possibility was remote … I had best not mention Vella until I’m sure Rielle already knows about her.

  “Your world sounds fascinating,” she continued. “Everything done by machines driven by magic.”

  “Not everything,” he corrected. “Or there’d be no jobs for anyone. The price was great: my world is weak because the machines were consuming the magic faster than it could be produced.”

  “Tarran said people in your world don’t believe creativity is the source of magic.”

  “It is considered a primitive belief. At least, it is in the Empire. In the colonies and uncolonised south, they know the truth.”

  “In my home world, using magic is forbidden unless you are a priest.”

  He nodded. “Because there is so little magic. We both grew up in worlds weak in magic.”

  “Are you reading my mind?”

  He hesitated a moment. “No.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “So how did you—? Ah! Dahli told you. Or you read it from his mind.”

  He nodded.

  She looked pained. “You must know far more about me than I do about you, since he knows everything about me before I became ageless. I had to open my mind to him while he taught me pattern shifting.”

  “Is that unavoidable—opening your mind to the one who teaches you?”

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “It’s probably faster that way, but I think if you knew what you were aiming for, you could teach yourself. The first person to become ageless must have achieved it alone, so it has to be possible. Have you tried to teach yourself?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? You are powerful enough to achieve it. Tarran said you have the knowledge.”

  “I guess I haven’t had a good enough reason yet.”

  “What reason do you need?” She tilted her head to the side. “Do you believe it should be a selfless act?”

  “No.” He chuckled. “I’m not so noble that I’d pass up the chance to become ageless unless it had a noble purpose.” He paused. “Has anyone done that?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Well, I’m as eager to live as long as I can as most people are. But I know it takes a long time and can strip a world of power. I’ve read that there are drawbacks.” He paused. “Do you mind if I ask what the drawbacks are?”

  She smiled. “Of course not.” She looked thoughtful, then her shoulders rose and fell. “Dahli said that I would unconsciously change myself to please those who regard me, and if I wasn’t careful I would eventually forget what I originally looked like.” She frowned. “I’ve often wondered if my personality would change too. Valhan had a statue of himself in his palace so he knew what he should look like. I’ve painted portraits of myself and left them in safe places.”

  “Does it matter, really, if you end up looking different to how you started?” Tyen asked. “It might be appealing, if you didn’t like your appearance.”

  “I would not have thought it mattered much, but maybe after living a few hundred years you feel like you’ve lost something. I sometimes long to return to who I was, when I didn’t know about magic and that there were other worlds—but then I think everyone is nostalgic for a time in their lives when things were innocent and uncomplicated.”

  Tyen nodded, thinking back to his early years in the Academy. “I read that being ageless can make you feel less human.”

  Rielle shook her head. “I feel very human. Too human, sometimes. It as though having strong powers makes my human needs and flaws more obvious.”

  “Yes, I know how that feels. It sounds as though these drawbacks are those that anyone who lives an interesting and long life would have anyway.”

  She frowned. “All but one, for me—losing my Maker ability. But that isn’t something you would need to worry about.”

  He raised his eyebrows at this piece of information. She had been a Maker, but becoming ageless had removed the ability. Something about this piece of information seemed familiar. Perhaps he had read it from Dahli’s mind. Or Baluka’s. “Do you regret losing it?”

  Her mouth pulled down at the corners. “Yes and no. It did not matter to me. Being ageless has far more benefits.” She smiled faintly. “And I am not the only one enjoying them.”

  He nodded. “Tarran. You’ve healed him—perhaps even made him younger.”

  “Both. What I do for him won’t last for ever. He didn’t want me to transform him into a young man again. He just wanted a little more time and no aches and pains.” She met his gaze and lowered her voice. “Though I would rather it wasn’t well known that I have that ability, or a certain person I represent here will
try to find ways to make me his healer.”

  “I respect that.” Tyen shuddered as he imagined how the Emperor might persuade her to give him a long, healthy life. He might not be able to harm her, but he might hurt people she cared about, like the mosaic-workers, or the servant girl.

  Rielle pushed her empty plate aside and picked up her writing stick. “That was delicious. Now, we should get back to work before they come to see what we’re up to.”

  So they continued on. During further rest breaks they swapped stories of their homes, of mistakes made while learning magic, and of people they had encountered since learning to travel the worlds. When they finally finished they had only the skeleton of a proposed agreement between the worlds—the best they could do without spending many days on it. Darkness curtained the shelter. Tyen had created a spark of light and set it floating above the table. Rielle took her copy, folded it in three, then stood.

  “I must go. I’ve been gone far longer than expected.”

  “The Emperor probably intended you to come straight back.”

  “It will do him good to have to wait for an answer, for once.” She looked up and smiled. “You should know, Tarran lives in the world of Roh, in the southern mountains of Puttila, beside Lake Boaleu. I’m sure he would appreciate a visit.”

  Tyen nodded. “I’d like to see him again.”

  Her smile widened. The odd angle of light cast her eyes in shadow, giving her expression a sultry mystery. Her lips seemed to curl in an invitation. His heartbeat quickened. Was that a deliberate look she’d given him, or only his hopes altering his perception of it?

  “Thank you,” she said quietly. “Good luck presenting this to the Claymars. I look forward to our next meeting.”

  “I, too.” He bowed in the manner of the gentlemen of his world. “Best of luck with the Emperor.”

  She nodded in reply, then pushed out of the world.

  He stood in silence after she had faded from sight. Her absence was like the extinguishing of a fire, allowing cool air to seep into the shelter. He realised he was tired, and wanted nothing more than to return home and think over their encounter. Leaving the Claymars’ list of terms, half-emptied plates of food and worn-down writing sticks on the table, Tyen stepped out onto the bridge. At once a rectangle of light in the building wall appeared and widened, the silhouette of a middle-aged Doumian man in the centre. Tyen brought out the spark of light, illuminating the way as Abler approached.

  He handed the second copy of the suggested agreement to the man.

  “Thank you for your assistance. Please deliver this to the Council,” Tyen said.

  “I will do so immediately,” Abler replied. “You may return to your workshop.”

  Tyen nodded, then drew magic and a deep breath and pushed a little way into the place between worlds so he could skim back to his home.

  CHAPTER 7

  Roh was a small, warm world. It contained no oceans, just a multitude of lakes. The vegetation was predominately grass—from towering fan-like species as tall as the largest trees of Tyen’s world, to tiny plants that sprouted from the smallest accumulation of dust and dirt.

  Tyen had explored it briefly, back when he had been searching for a world in which to settle. Doum had already been in his mind as an attractive new home, and he’d found Roh a little boring in comparison. The lack of metalworking technology had put him off, despite his determination to leave mechanical magic in his past.

  The southern mountains of the area known as Puttila would be better described as ripples in the blanket of green vegetation that covered most of the world. A maze of lakes lay between them. It took some time, following the convoluted coastlines of several lakes, before he found the first inhabitants. Aquatic grass blurred the line between lake and land, most of it several times the height of a man. The houses were suspended platforms tied to the mature plants, a wider roof hanging above.

  He emerged in one, startling a man making rope, and asked where Lake Boaleu was. The man’s language was a liquid flow of sounds that Tyen found difficult to speak. His own pronunciation of Boaleu was so far from correct that it took some time to make himself understood. Being able to read minds did not always make communication easier. The instructions he was eventually given were too complicated to memorise, being the steps someone would take if they were travelling in a small boat. He had to stop and question locals several more times before he finally arrived at what he hoped was the lake Tarran lived beside.

  When he got there, however, finding Tarran wasn’t hard at all. In the middle of the lake stood a spire of rock—the remnants of an ancient volcano’s throat. On top of this, among more grass-like vegetation, sprawled a cluster of buildings. From the verandas and pergola posts fluttered colourful banners covered in black marks. If Tyen hadn’t been skimming just outside the world, he’d have laughed aloud. The old sorcerer was clearly still keeping up his calligraphy practice—and no doubt making all his students learn it too.

  Though it was obvious to Tyen that this was Tarran’s home, he could not shake his long-held habits of caution. He continued past the spire and followed the lake to the furthest edge, stopped for a breath, then quickly retraced his steps, creating a dead-end path in the place between worlds. As he set off in a new direction towards the spire, he began concealing his path.

  He skimmed towards the building slowly, looking for signs of life. A man scrubbed clothing in a trough; a woman worked in a small vegetable garden; and through a window Tyen spotted a young man bent over a table, wielding a large brush. Then as he passed over the building, he saw an old man leaning on a railing, looking out over the lake.

  Descending to the pavement behind the man, Tyen moved the rest of the way into the world, feeling the pull of gravity as he arrived. At Tyen’s deep intake of breath, Tarran started and turned. Then he smiled.

  “Ah,” he said. “Tyen. She kept her promise.”

  “Promise?”

  “To send you here.”

  “Why wouldn’t she, if you wanted her to?”

  Tarran grinned. “Jealousy. She wants me all to herself.”

  Tyen pretended to be impressed. “Your teaching must have improved greatly since you were at Liftre.”

  The old man chuckled. “Ha ha. Actually, it can only be better when I have fewer students. More time for each.” He beckoned and turned back to the rail. “I was just admiring the view. It’s a particularly fine one today. No mist obscuring the distance. No wind to ruffle the water.”

  Walking over to join Tarran, Tyen had to agree: it was spectacular. The lake spread before them, encompassed by green-blue hills. The shore closest to them shimmered as a flock of winged creatures took to the air, their energetic flapping becoming a graceful, unified wave. The lake was partially transparent, revealing shoals of many small aquatic creatures, and one impressively large one steadily making its way past the volcanic plug.

  “How long have you lived here?” Tyen asked.

  “Three cycles.”

  “Why here?”

  Tarran shrugged. “There’s little danger anyone would invade this world. While there’s plenty of water and good soil, otherworld crops can’t compete with the local plants. There are no great stores of mineral resources to exploit. There’s enough to live on, evenly distributed around the world, but only if you live simply. Of course, the Rohins still manage to find things to fight over. They’re as human as the rest of the people of the worlds. But they tend to fight about politics or law. Or matters of the heart.”

  Tyen looked over his shoulder at the building. “Did you make this place?”

  “No, I bought it from another otherworlder. One of the Raen’s former allies, who needed a more secretive hiding place than this.”

  Tyen looked into his former mentor’s mind, but didn’t recognise the ally. Tarran doubted the name he’d been given was the true one anyway.

  “What about you? Did you finally get around to becoming ageless?”

  “No.”


  The old man frowned at Tyen. “Why not?”

  “The right time hasn’t come along.” Tyen shrugged. “And it means destroying a world, with the added risk of being stranded in it.”

  “It doesn’t destroy a world to take the magic out of it,” Tarran reminded him. “They do recover. And while worlds with magic and no people are rare, they do exist. Though they may be growing more scarce, now that the Raen no longer controls who is becoming ageless.” Tarran put a hand on Tyen’s shoulder. “You know I’ll come and get you if you became stranded.”

  “And the drawback to being ageless—the risk of irreversible change?”

  The old man paused, then drew his hand away. “By the time you’re my age, it won’t seem that relevant. We all change as we grow older. We constantly evolve into new people. Believe me, I am nothing like the person I was at your age, and I don’t mind that as much as you’d expect. While you may end up changing into someone completely different, that doesn’t mean it’ll be something worse. You have less to lose than Rielle did. She was once a Maker. Now when she creates, the magic she generates is no greater than any other artist’s.”

  Tyen nodded. “Baluka told me she was a Maker. He thought that was why the Raen took her to his palace.”

  Tarran frowned. “If that were true, why did he have her become ageless?”

  Tyen shook his head. He could not tell Tarran the real reason the Raen had recruited Rielle: to resurrect him after he died. The old man turned to face the building. “Come inside. I have some new students, and I should introduce you.”

  Following Tarran inside, Tyen caught a thought from the man that made his heart skip a beat.

  Rielle will probably get here soon, Tarran thought. If she’s taken all of my advice and not simply suggested Tyen visit me. In the next moment a spark ran along Tyen’s nerves, as he learned that Rielle had admitted to Tarran that she was attracted to Tyen. That she would like to form more than a friendship. Tarran had suggested she arrange for Tyen to meet her here. Or at least send Tyen to him so he could attempt to find out if his former protégé was at all attracted to her. If he was interested in meeting for more than just negotiations.