Heading back to Deeme, she considered the journey they’d made to get to this world. A handful of worlds after the one they’d fled, they’d begun to encounter many dead and dangerous worlds. She had to backtrack from clusters of worlds contained within inhospitable ones—effectively dead-end routes. Seeking information within populated worlds, she was often able to avoid these. It often took more time to do so than to explore, but it was safer and a more efficient use of magic. Occasionally she stumbled upon someone who possessed a map of many surrounding worlds, and it was one of these people who first confirmed that the branches through to other large areas of worlds did exist.
The other disadvantage to seeking this information was that it effectively made a deep and distinct footprint in whatever trail she might be leaving. Hunters would seek out the same people, to see if anyone had asked about surrounding worlds. Though she had changed her hair again—short and curly—and darkened her skin tone, and Timane had cut her own glorious long hair to a simple bob and asked Rielle to change it to black, sorcerers seeking the information weren’t common.
The hunters too could learn there were routes through the dead and dangerous worlds to areas of hospitable ones. Realising she could give them a valuable clue just by seeking information, she stopped directly visiting people with it, instead searching minds from a distance and hoping she’d find the right people and they would think about the local worlds while she watched.
At last, she’d learned of another route linking to a new area of worlds. Following it, she’d emerged into a pocket of about twenty worlds. The potential to be cornered within them worried her, so she took herself, Qall and Timane out and sought another linkage. This one led to an area of worlds that, even if it was contained within dead worlds, was so large that nobody knew they were surrounded.
Nobody had heard of the Raen, as far as she could tell. She was intrigued to learn that a string of powerful sorcerers had ruled this area—currently a relatively benign brother and sister duo were said to watch over them.
Arriving in Deeme, she emerged in the same place she’d left from, then walked back to the apartment. The landlady peered out of her door as Rielle passed, still awake despite the late hour. Timane and Qall were sitting on the beds chatting as she entered. They both looked up hopefully.
“Everything looks fine,” she told them as she sat down beside Timane. “The local worlds are peaceful. I heard no thoughts of the Raen. I think we can settle here, but I’ll have to find another world to train Qall in.”
Timane clapped her hands. “Wonderful!” she exclaimed.
“Here,” Qall said, rising and handing Rielle a small parcel.
Mystified, she unwrapped it. Small jars filled with coloured paste spilled out onto the bed. Three wooden boards remained in her hands.
“The theatres will expect you to bring samples of your work,” Qall explained. “I found a supply store a few blocks away.” His shoulders lifted. “I still had a few bits of gold left that my family gave me.”
Rielle looked up at him, surprised and pleased. “How did you know what to …? Of course, you read it in someone’s mind.”
“Other local artists,” he confirmed. “You should paint people. Plants and animals are different everywhere, but people are the same everywhere.”
She nodded. “Thanks, Qall.”
He shrugged.
“You must really like the look of this place.”
“Not especially, but I can see staying here working for us.”
She smiled. “I’m glad it’s not just Timane and me. It will be a lot of work, but different to what we did at the cottage.”
Timane nodded. “And perhaps better suited to all of us.”
CHAPTER 9
The façade of the theatre had been painted black, but in the bright sunlight it looked grey. Daubs of what had once been white paint appeared to represent stars, and swimming among them were several men and women. All of the figures wore the same face, no matter the gender, which was a little disturbing. Cracks and peeling paint did nothing to improve the impression.
Rielle slipped through an archway to the left of the building. Ignoring a group of young men lurking in the shadows further down, she examined each of the small doors in the theatre wall until she found what she was looking for: a simply painted mask with a conical shape below it. She knocked.
A long silence followed, but as she was about to raise her hand to knock louder she detected the mind of an older woman coming to answer the door.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” the woman muttered out of habit, belatedly realising that there hadn’t been a second knock, as there usually was. She considered whether the visitor had given up and gone away, and that she may not need to check the door, but she was only a few steps away so she continued towards it.
The painted mask swivelled inward. Rielle smiled at the wrinkled face that replaced it. The woman examined the visitor, noting the mousy blonde hair, light brown skin and green eyes of a people known for their artistic skills. This ability to change my appearance would be an unfair advantage, except that it won’t take long for my accent and unfamiliarity with that people’s language and history to reveal I’m not from there.
“I have heard that you need a painter.”
Rielle had practised the phrase in Amelyan before setting out. Picking the right words from the minds of people could be a slow process, and made it obvious she did not speak the local language. While many workers in the city did not know the tongue, even a basic grasp of it was an advantage when looking for work.
The woman’s eyebrows rose slightly. “You did? Well, then you had best speak to the manager.”
The sound of metal scraping against the odd dried pulp used in place of wood in the city followed, then the door opened. The old woman beckoned Rielle inside, then led her up a staircase to a closed door. At her knock a voice called out from inside:
“Yes?!”
“A painter come to offer her services,” the older woman said by way of introduction.
“Let her in.”
The woman opened the door. Sitting at a table that almost completely filled the small room beyond was an elderly woman. Her white hair strained away from her face in a lively, curly halo. Her wrinkles told of many smiles and her eyes were a vivid, alert blue. Rielle instantly liked her.
“Come in,” the old woman said, beckoning with both hands. As Rielle entered, the door closed behind her. “What is your name?”
“Elle,” Rielle replied.
“I am Windra.” The woman’s eyes had dropped to the boards Rielle was carrying. “Your samples? Show me.”
Rielle handed them over. Windra spread them over the items covering the table, exclaiming wordlessly as she examined each. She then arranged them in a line and leaned back to regard them all.
“Good work,” she said, then looked up at Rielle. “The theme of this theatre, as you have seen, is ‘Tales of the Night.’ What would you do to represent that on the exterior?”
Rielle considered, then sought the right words from Windra’s mind. “I would paint the entire building dark blue,” she said. “And use gold paint for stars so they glitter even in daylight.”
“And?”
“No more. A simple façade among so many complex façades will attract the eye. Then I would choose bright colours and designs inside, so people glimpse something interesting when the doors and windows open and close.”
Windra’s eyebrows rose, hovered, then lowered again. “I like how you think.”
“Thank you.”
Rielle looked at her hands modestly as Windra examined the samples again. The girl can paint, that is clear, she was thinking. Anyone else would have suggested painting figures on the façade. Maybe she thinks that this will get her work inside as well—more work overall. But her idea has merit, and it’ll be cheaper, even with the gold paint.
“I will do it,” Windra said. “When can you begin?”
“In nine or ten days,” R
ielle replied. Though she had no other work, now that Timane had a well-paid job, she wanted to resume Qall’s training so he didn’t get bored and restless. It didn’t hurt to give the impression her work was already in demand too.
They came to an agreement over the fee. Rielle told the woman to choose one of the samples to keep, then retrieved the rest and left. As she walked back to the apartment, she considered the progress that she, Timane and Qall had made in the last ten days. The greatest surprise had been Timane’s success at securing a role as a singer. The manager at the Quaver Theatre, where they’d seen the women performing, saw great potential in her. He had arranged training in dance, singing, theatre customs and the local language. Her income was small for a singer, but much better than the menial job she had expected to take.
This kept Timane very busy, but her lessons began at midday so Rielle had been seeking work in the mornings so that Qall had company. Once she began work, there would be no choice but to leave him alone for most of the day.
He can’t hide away for ever. Timane had suggested trying some of the tricks actors used to change his appearance. He’d been amenable to bleaching his hair, or perhaps growing a beard, but rejected the idea of using skin paint.
If he could change his appearance with magic, it would make it so much easier. But it feels too soon for him to become ageless. He’s barely begun living a mortal life. Only five cycles and a half, if I count from when I rescued him. He ought to know and understand the dangers of learning pattern shifting before he attempts it.
She doubted he’d turn down the chance to stop ageing though. Who wouldn’t want to live as long as they wanted to, and be able to heal from most injury and disease? Still, it was important that he felt as if he made the decision when he was ready to. She did not want him blaming her for steering him into becoming ageless when he was too immature to understand what it truly meant.
That’s what makes me hesitate, she realised. His lack of maturity. His sulks and mood swings suggested he wasn’t yet ready to make such an important decision. I’m not sure I was when I became ageless, she mused. Not being told there were consequences until it was too late had been unfair to her. She didn’t want him blaming him if he forgot his original appearance and lost his sense of identity.
She had changed so much since she’d learned it, but it felt natural—the normal shifts that happened through experience and time. She wasn’t sure she even believed in angels now. Nothing she’d seen in all the worlds had suggested they were real. A part of her still wanted to believe, and reasoned that they, not being physical beings, could exist outside all the worlds. Plenty of religions were structured around that idea, though the actual being or beings they worshipped took on a multitude of different forms. At the same time, she couldn’t escape the fact that humans simply liked to think that something existed greater than them, something that had a plan or reasons of some kind for the ills of the worlds, so that they did not have to take collective responsibility for all the pain and cruelty and foolishness.
Reaching the apartment building, she ignored the landlady peering out of the open door of her room and started up the stairs. Out of habit, she searched for minds above. The drunk on the second floor was asleep and caught in a nightmare; the mother of five on the third was teaching her youngest how to sew; and in the now-familiar room on the fourth, Timane was practising with the face paints the theatre manager had given her.
Reaching the door, Rielle stepped through. Timane lifted the edge of the heavy curtain that divided the girl’s space from Qall and Rielle’s.
“Qall’s gone out,” she said.
A stab of alarm halted Rielle. “For how long?”
“I don’t know,” Timane confessed with a grimace. “I was asleep.”
Rielle took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. “Did he leave a message?”
“No.” Timane disappeared behind the curtain again. “He can’t have gone far.”
“Far enough to make it hard to find him,” Rielle muttered, walking to her partition and sitting on the rickety third bed they’d bought a few days after arriving. “I’ll see if I can locate him.”
“We can’t expect him to stay holed up here all the time,” Timane said. “It isn’t healthy.”
“Well, I don’t need to paint any more samples, so I was going to resume his training today,” Rielle told her.
“You got the job!”
“I did. But I won’t be starting for some days yet.”
“That’s wonderful.”
Closing her eyes, Rielle sent her mind out and down towards the street. Where would he go? She had no idea. Perhaps he had been hungry and, not wanting to wake Timane, decided to fetch the food. She searched the minds of street vendors but saw no memory of him, and none were looking at anyone of Qall’s appearance. She kept searching through the minds of people on the street who tended to note passing young men—like the young women at the bakery. She moved steadily further afield, but found no memory of him.
Perhaps he didn’t go out on the street. She searched the alleyways and the houses nearby, but saw no sign of him. Not even the nosy landlady below had seen him leave. That might have given Rielle some idea of which direction he’d gone in. She let out a sigh of exasperation.
Then a chill went through her. The landlady didn’t see him leave? That was odd. Nothing evaded that woman. Either he had an undiscovered talent for slipping past people or …
She drew magic, then hesitated. Surely not. Even if he’d worked it out for himself, he knows it’s dangerous.
But he had all the respect for danger of most young men his age. Her brother might have been much older than her, but she could still remember a time when risky activities had a mysterious attraction to him. It was only when she’d cried hysterically after he’d returned one night bleeding from a fight that he had stopped seeking thrills so ardently.
Pushing out of the world slightly, she sought and found what she feared.
A path.
Despite the non-physical state of the place between, her mind buzzed with alarm. Had he learned how to travel between worlds, or had someone else taken him? Had one of Dahli’s hunters arrived and delivered his threat to harm Lejihk’s family if Qall didn’t return and do as he asked?
Calm down, she told herself. Think. The path was recent, but not fresh enough to suggest someone had just forged it. Rushing down it would not result in her catching up with its creator before the next world. If Qall went that far. He might have moved a short distance, and still be finding his way back. He might have arrived within an object, becoming trapped. No, don’t think about that.
Returning to the world, she drew a breath.
“Timane.”
“Yes?”
“Someone has left this world from this room. I’m going to investigate.”
“Qall?”
“He doesn’t know how.”
“Someone abducted him?” The girl sounded frightened. “And while I was asleep!”
“Perhaps. I will find out.” Rielle’s heart pounded. She drew a couple of deep breaths, willing it to slow. “Stay here … wait, no. Go to your lessons. It will be safer. I will fetch you once I have Qall back.”
She didn’t wait for Timane’s answer. Pushing into the place between worlds, she relocated the path and propelled herself along it, reaching the next world in moments. Paddocks dotted with strange, stumpy animals stretched in all directions. Just before she arrived, she sensed another path leading sideways.
It was as fresh as the last, and skimmed across the world in a straight line. Following it, she found it emerged in the world several times, suggesting stops to breathe. Not an ageless sorcerer, which suggests Qall made the path and not one of Dahli’s hunters.
The path eventually reached a small city, descending to an arrival place within an enormous octagonal hall. On each wall there was a mural depicting the eight lands of the world, but she was too distracted to admire the artistry of them. Searching th
e minds around her, she found that some of the people present were tasked with watching and recording who arrived and left.
She chose a young man. Her approach made him tense. Sorcerers had been known to make impossible and unpleasant demands on the watchers. She smiled and collected words from his mind.
“Did a young man arrive and leave in the last few hours, either alone or with a companion?”
Memories rose to the surface of his thoughts. He glanced down at his notebook. Three visitors met that description, including the handsomely pale, dark-haired one who had arrived and left alone, and stayed only long enough to take a deep breath and leave.
As he told her this, she almost sagged with relief. Qall was alone. That he was travelling between worlds was still worrying, but not as alarming as the alternative. She nodded and took a small slip of gold from her purse. The watcher shook his head. Taking payment was forbidden. They watched so that visitors did not seek answers in less pleasant ways.
Thanking him, she pushed out of the world. Two paths led out of the arrival place. She had no way of knowing which one he’d taken. All she could do was try one, and return to the other if her guess was wrong.
She continued on, from world to world, retracing her steps when it was clear she’d taken the wrong path. Not every world had watchers or similar, but she could often find the information she needed in the minds of children, who loved to observe mysterious strangers appearing and vanishing at arrival places. None had seen a young man of Qall’s appearance recently.
She returned to the hall, trying not to imagine him getting further and further ahead of her. The other path led to a monastery where the monks recorded the rare comings and goings of sorcerers in their arrival place. She learned that Qall had been there not long before and hope burned in her again.