Beyond Ankari and the doorway a more even green appeared ahead of the road, murky in the twilight. The trees ended abruptly and the view through the window changed to cultivated hills on either side. Ankari stood up to allow Baluka to climb up through the doorway, then handed the reins to Lejikh as he settled on the step. Baluka moved to the edge of the bed, while his mother settled in the other chair.
Seeing people outside the window, Rielle turned to see what they were like. The fields were being worked by a scattering of bent figures. The locals were as pale as Schpetans but most had curly hair cropped at the shoulders and all the men were bearded. They were small in stature. One straightened to stretch her back, revealing thin arms and sunken cheeks. She scowled as she saw the wagons, then bent back to her work.
Surprised, Rielle looked closer, seeking minds. Most were curious, she sensed, but they did not see themselves ever having dealings with the Travellers.
… don’t get this finished we’ll have nothing after paying the tithe to get us through the dry…
… now the chief will use the money from the harvest to buy more useless pretty things from those Travellers rather than feeding his people…
… she’s always complaining that she’s hungry. That the chief of her homeland fed his people better. Well, she didn’t have to marry me. I suppose once she’s had the child…
Rielle shook her head. These people were hungry and tired. They had no choice but to work for the chief. They regarded themselves as the man’s possessions. Are they slaves? She turned away and found Ankari watching her. The woman’s expression was grim, and she spoke quietly to Baluka. He turned to Rielle.
“Most people don’t like knowing their minds can be read,” he told her. “We have an agreement here that no Traveller will read anyone’s mind without permission from the chief. You’re a guest and not bound by the same promise, but it would be better for all of us if you didn’t do so either.”
Her face warmed. “I didn’t know. I apologise.”
“It’s fine,” he assured her. “It’s a new skill, it’s hard to stop looking once you know how. Just… when we get there, try not to react to what you see.”
She nodded. “That’s going to be hard, if I keep seeing things I don’t like.”
Ankari smiled, and Rielle was surprised to see approval in the woman’s gaze.
“I’m sure there were parts of the culture you last lived in, even parts of your own culture, that you didn’t like and couldn’t do anything to fix,” she said, Rielle reading her meaning in Baluka’s mind. “I’m also sure you learned to hide your dislike for the sake of avoiding insult and conflict. Whether you notice with your eyes or mind, that same sense of manners or self-preservation applies in all worlds.”
Rielle glanced out of the window. “But it seems wrong to not look, though; as if I’m pretending their troubles don’t exist.”
“I understand,” Ankari assured her. “But there are a thousand thousand people in most worlds, and countless worlds out there. If you looked into every person’s mind you wouldn’t always see pain and suffering, but overall there will be a great deal of it. Most of the time you can’t do anything to help, and knowing that while still seeing everything…”
“It could drive you mad,” Baluka finished. He sounded so much older and wiser than he had previously that Rielle found herself staring at him. “No world is perfect. Some are terrible. We only trade with one of the more benevolent chiefs here in order to encourage better treatment of their serfs, but anything more would be unwelcome interference.” Baluka’s serious expression vanished. “Still, there is nearly always something to like about a place, even if a small thing. They bake amazingly good sweets here. Like bulbul. It’s a kind of a cake with a hollow inside which they fill with a thick tuk-flavoured syrup.”
Rielle couldn’t help smiling at his wistful, hungry expression. “But we’ve only just eaten an enormous meal!”
“Yes, but there’s always more room for sweets.” He looked from her to his mother, who shook her head in mock exasperation.
“You have a whole feast to get through first,” the woman reminded him.
He winced. “If only more cultures served sweet courses first,” he lamented, then he peered around Lejikh. “We’re nearly there.”
Beyond the loms’ backs, the road ascended a low hill towards a dark, horizontal band. Slowly this grew nearer and larger until it resolved into a wooden wall several times the height of even the tallest Traveller. As tall as the trees in the forest they’d arrived in, she realised.