Susan Fletcher - Alphabet of Dreams

by Susan Fletcher

  Leaving!

  Why had no one come for us? Were they leaving us behind?

  “Wake up, Babak!” I shook him; he yawned and snuggled back in to sleep. I hefted him onto my chest; he clung to my neck, his body limp and unwieldy and yet inexpressibly sweet. When we had nearly reached the stairs, I heard Giv call my name.

  I waited as he strode along the gallery toward us. How long had I been plotting to escape? And yet now my cowardly knees buckled with relief to know we had not been abandoned. “Are we leaving?” I asked.

  “Nay, not yet. Melchior’s just paring down his caravan.”

  “Paring?”

  “For the journey to the land of the two rivers. The other two Magi won’t abide Melchior’s overbloated entourage, thanks be to the Wise God,” he muttered. “We’re selling horses and buying camels. We’ll all be camelback now.”

  I looked about and took note of the new camels. Their shapes, limned in the pale light, set them apart from the shaggy, two-humped Bactrians, like Ziba—and from the one-humped dromedaries I had seen from time to time in Rhagae. These seemed some combination of the two—short haired, with a single large hump with a dip in the middle. I had heard of these new camels, bred for strength and hardiness.

  “What of Ziba? Will she—”

  “The two-humped camels we’ll keep as pack animals. And there won’t be enough new ones for everyone; Gaspar’s skimmed off the cream for his archers. You’ll still be riding Ziba. Now—”

  Belatedly it struck me. The other two Magi, he had said. “Will Balthazaar be coming all the way to the Roman territory?” I asked.

  Giv looked at me oddly, and I realized that I ought not to have known Balthazaar, nor that we were going that far. “There is talk,” I said. “I hear it.”

  He grunted. “Hurry. They wish to speak with you. What was hidden is now known—at least among the Magi.”

  What was hidden is now known. I followed him, wondering. So many things hidden! Our ancestry, that I was a girl, Babak’s dreams. Some hidden thing was written in the stars. Which one—or perhaps more than one—was now known?

  CHAPTER 36

  LOSE THIS WORLD

  When we entered the room, I saw that all the servants and guards had been sent away. Giv stood watch inside the door. The three Magi reposed in a semicircle upon carven benches: Balthazaar, pensive, in the middle; Gaspar to one side, arrow straight, his black hair and beard neatly trimmed and glistening with oil; Melchior to the other side, combing beringed fingers through his unruly bird’s nest of a beard. I thought I detected a glint of something new—interest, perhaps, or only curiosity—in Melchior’s eyes and in Gaspar’s also. But it was difficult to tell. The blush of sunrise mingled with the glow of a small altar fire, making a moving pattern of light and shadow on the men’s faces, like the ripples of a shallow stream over a bed of stones. The room smelled strongly of sandalwood and incense. I set Babak down, but he clung to me, sensing my unease, as we walked together to stand on the carpet before the Magi.

  “Greetings to you, Ramin,” Balthazaar said, “and to you, Babak.”

  We bowed and murmured our greetings. I glanced furtively at Melchior’s face. He had striven so hard to keep Babak’s dreams a secret, and now we had let it slip to Balthazaar. Did Melchior know he knew? If so, was he angry?

  Balthazaar motioned us to sit on the carpet before them; we did. Melchior spoke. “You recollect what I said to you before, about the need to keep Babak’s dreams a secret?”

  I swallowed. “Yes, my lord.” I flicked a glance at Balthazaar. He nodded, almost imperceptibly; some of the worry I had held coiled within me began to ease.

  “Well, now it is a secret to be shared. With these two lords only—and, of course, Giv.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “No others. Do you hear?”

  “A bit late for that,” Gaspar observed. Melchior glared at him. Gaspar’s voice was flat, dry. “All the palace is abuzz with talk of Babak and his dreams,” he said. “It’s useless to shut the stable door once the horse has fled.”

  Melchior began to sputter; Balthazaar smoothly cut him off. “While it is true,” he said, “that word of Babak and his dreams has spread beyond this room, it is likewise true that the less made of this the better—for Babak and for our quest. Are we all agreed to keep to ourselves what passes between these walls?” Seeing nods of agreement, Balthazaar motioned to Melchior, who cleared his throat and turned to Babak.

  “So,” he said. “I requested a dream from you last night and gave you, er, an item of clothing. What did you dream?”

  Babak ducked under my arm and buried his face against my side. I looked down, afraid for him. That dream last night seemed to have troubled him. It was hard for him to relive such dreams. And now, with all three Magi sitting, waiting …

  “Well?” Melchior demanded. “Tell us, boy.”

  Babak burrowed deeper. I squeezed his arm, trying to comfort him.

  Balthazaar spoke. “Babak.” My brother eased his grip on me, turned his head to look. “We will not harm you. Tell us only if you wish.”

  Melchior frowned. “He is my boy, not yours. You don’t tell him what he may and may not do.”

  “But you agreed to this earlier,” Balthazaar said mildly. “That the boy must not be forced. I repeat only what you’ve agreed.”

  “I agreed to too much,” Melchior muttered.

  Babak disentangled himself from my body, ventured forward into the rosy, rippling light, and knelt on the carpet before Balthazaar. Melchior began to protest again, but Gaspar shot him a harsh look and Melchior subsided.

  Balthazaar smiled, wreathing his wise old eyes in wrinkles. He reached out his long-fingered hand and lightly touched Babak’s shoulder. “Sit up, son. No need to kneel.”

  “It was stars at first,” Babak told him. “The same as the stars when I dreamed for him.” He flicked a glance at Gaspar, who gave a start, then looked daggers at Melchior, who frowned, peered down at the carpet, plucked at his beard.

  Balthazaar, taking in all of this, raised an eyebrow. “So,” he said, turning to Babak, “stars circling the sky for many thousands of years. So that each group of stars, each constellation, made a full circuit of the sky. Is that right?”

  Babak nodded. “And then they stopped, and two of the wandering stars came near and apart three times.”

  “Yes,” Balthazaar said. “And was that all?”

  “No.” He swallowed. “There was pain. A woman’s pain. And blood. And then there was … a baby.”

  “Ah!” Balthazaar put a finger to his lips.

  Gaspar spoke up. “Did you see more of this baby? Did you see his mother and father, or where he was, what sort of place? Was there aught remarkable about a blanket that may have been wrapped around him, or some cradle in which he lay?”

  “No.” Babak glanced quickly back at me, seeking reassurance. I did my best to smile, but I could see from the tight, hunched set of his shoulders that he was not cheered.

  “Babak,” Balthazaar said. “Will it trouble you if we ask some more questions?”

  Babak shook his head. “Not if you ask them, my lord.”

  “Very well, then. These dreams you have, they are for others, not yourself?”

  Babak nodded.

  “And whose dream was this?”

  “It was your dream,” Babak said. “You were not in it, but I knew it was yours.”

  “Was it a sash you were given to sleep with? A white sash?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “And I suppose you gave him something of mine to sleep with as well,” Gaspar said, glaring at Melchior.

  But Balthazaar made a calming motion. “And are your dreams … true, Babak?” he asked.

  Babak looked back at me, confused. Melchior began to say something, but Balthazaar stopped him. “That is a difficult question?” he asked Babak.

  Babak hung his head. I could tell that though he wanted to please Balthazaar, he was beginning to shrink from
the questioning. “I dream,” he mumbled, “of dreams.”

  Melchior crossed his arms, made an impatient sound in his throat. Balthazaar leaned back, as if to give Babak room to breathe, and turned to me. “Do you understand this, Ramin? What he is telling us?”

  “I believe so, my lord,” I said. Babak crept back and settled himself in my lap. My arms, hungry to comfort him, folded themselves around his body—light and brittle, a bundle of sticks. Balthazaar nodded for me to continue. “When we lived in Rhagae, Babak dreamed mostly of food. This was his chief desire, and mine also, because we were hungry much of the time. When he began to dream for others, he would dream, I think, of their desires. A healthy male baby. A wedding. A recovery from illness. A profitable trade. His dreams were true in this way: that they expressed the wishes of those he dreamed for. Their desires and most earnest hopes, or the secret wishes of their hearts.”

  “But did they come true? Did the dreamed-of events come to pass?” Balthazaar’s tone was mild, yet he leaned forward and his eyes shone with a deep intensity.

  “Many did,” I said. “With others it is not yet known.”

  “I had no desire for whirling stars,” Melchior protested, waving his hands in circles above his head.

  I recalled the strange king of Melchior’s second dream and marked what he did not say: that he had no desire to be welcomed by a king.

  “And yet your tale of stars brought you my help,” Gaspar said, “and you did desire that. If not for those dreams, I’d have—”

  “Ah, well,” Balthazaar said in a mollifying way. “Sometimes our dreams are wiser than ourselves.” He turned to me. “How long had he been dreaming in this way before Melchior came to be his guardian?”

  “I don’t know for certain. A month, perhaps.”

  “And did he dream in this way every night? Dream for others, not for himself?”

  “Nearly every night. I told her to let him rest, but—”

  “Her?”

  “The one who sold Babak to Melchior. She was our go-between. I tried to tell her—”

  “Hush, child,” Balthazaar said. “You couldn’t know the harm it would do. Has he ever dreamed in this way without the token? Perhaps continued a dream from a previous night without the token near his skin?”

  Fear lay a cold hand on my heart. I remembered the time with Pirouz, when Babak had started to walk in his sleep and I had tripped him. He’d said he had dreamed of shaggy beasties—that dream he had had long ago. Now the altar fire popped and leaped, sending light flaring across Balthazaar’s face, then casting it into sudden shadow. Babak clung to me, his face pressed into my chest. “There was once,” I said. “And he sometimes seems … absent, my lord. Not entirely here. He hums….”

  Balthazaar frowned and murmured something beneath his breath; I thought I heard “too late …” But he looked up again and spoke softly to me. “Dreams of this sort visit only a certain kind of soul, those who haven’t built up stout walls between themselves and the sufferings of others. We don’t know where these dreams come from—whether from the Wise God or some other, earthly source. But touching the flame of the divine can burn us as well. When these dreamers dream for others, their own rightful dreams are stolen from them. They can lose their boundaries if they have crossed too often into other people’s dreams. Then they swim in and out between this world and the dream world. And if they are too far gone, they lose this world altogether. Do you understand?”

  Lose this world. I touched Babak’s face, traced my fingers along his scarred eyebrow. His skin was too delicate, too thin, no protection against what might seep in. “So it would be as if he were … sleepwalking … all the time? In and out of other people’s dreams?”

  “Yes. And you could not rouse him.”

  “How do we know? How do we know if it has gone too far already?”

  “We wait. But we must not use him thus again.” He looked about at the group, fixing Melchior with a long stare.

  Melchior, defiant, stared back. “I didn’t agree to never. You said—”

  “Only in the direst extremity,” Balthazaar said. “I can take the two children off your hands, since Babak will now be of little use to you.”

  “No!” Melchior’s face burned red; he seemed to struggle to restrain himself. At last he turned a milder countenance upon Balthazaar and said, “He’s my responsibility, and I’ll not shirk it. I’ll care for him. For them,” he said, glancing at me.

  “But no dreams,” Balthazaar said.

  “Except in extremity,” Melchior grumbled.

  But I didn’t trust him. He had kept us only for Babak’s dreams. If he truly didn’t intend to use Babak again, why wouldn’t he let us go?

  “Babak.” Balthazaar’s voice was gentle. Babak looked up at him. “You must rest. Dream only for yourself. Do you understand?”

  “I would dream for you,” Babak said. “If you wanted me to.”

  “No.” For the first time, Balthazaar’s voice sounded harsh. He breathed out a long breath, his lips moving slightly, as if they formed the words of a prayer or incantation, then he smiled at Babak. But his eyes, when they rested for a moment upon mine, were full of pity.

  CHAPTER 37

  TWO FAREWELLS

  When the Magi had dismissed us, I stumbled through the bustling courtyard after Giv, gripping Babak’s hand. The caravan sounds made an odd, distant rushing in my ears; men and animals and cargo blurred before me in the gathering light. My bones felt watery, as if the hardness in them had leached away. Too late. Time and again I stopped to peer into Babak’s eyes to reassure myself that he was still with us, still of this world.

  All at once Gorizpa stood before me, and Giv was saying something about a buyer. “What? A buyer?” I asked.

  “Yes!” Giv sounded impatient.

  I glanced at the man standing beside him. The buyer. I’d been worried about Ziba; I hadn’t given a thought to Gorizpa. “She’s not for sale.”

  Giv’s scowl deepened. “Have you heard a single word I’ve said? She’ll slow us down; she must go. No—don’t dispute with me. She must. So then: This man has made a fair offer. His wife is with child; he needs a donkey she can ride when she travels to her mother’s home.”

  Babak burst into tears and ran to Gorizpa, buried his face in her coat. I turned to look at the man, the buyer. A heavy man, with a great, bushy head and tiny, close-set eyes. If his wife was likewise heavy, she would break the poor donkey’s back.

  “What will you do with her after the baby comes?” I demanded.

  “I will sell her then, of course,” the man said. “But in the meantime I will treat her well.”

  I turned to Giv. “I will not sell my donkey to this man.”

  “Nay, but he’ll find a good owner! Tell him that,” he said to the man.

  “Why should I? He’s but a boy, and you know my price is fair!” Then, faced with Giv’s implacable glare, the man turned to me. “Of course,” he said, speaking slowly, as to a young child. “I will find another owner just as kindly as myself.”

  “No,” I said.

  “Ramin—” Giv growled.

  “No! I won’t! He can’t have her. I don’t care what you do to me, you can slice me up in pieces, you can hang me up by my heels, but I won’t let you sell her to him so he can ruin her! I won’t!”

  Babak turned to stare at me, tears streaming down his face. The buyer held up his hands, backed away. “It’s just a donkey,” he said. “I’ll find another.”

  I glanced at Giv, expecting him to be furious. But something had shifted in his face, had softened. I blinked back tears, tried to master myself, tried to stop shaking. What was amiss with me? She was only a donkey, old and broken down.

  I saw Giv motion to Pacorus, saw him take him aside and speak to him. I saw Pacorus leave, and made to follow. “Stay here!” Giv barked, gruff again. “I don’t want to have to send for you, then. You’ve squandered enough of my time.” He strode off across the courtyard.

  B
abak reached up, patted my back, as I had done a thousand times to him. Gorizpa gazed at me with great, wide, melting eyes, then leaned her bony head against my chest. When I scratched inside her ear, she moaned and closed her eyes, lower lip loose and drooling. Stupid old thing!

  In a while I spied Pacorus with a balding, stoop-shouldered, shuffling man. The two of them threaded through the hubbub to Giv and spoke to him briefly. Giv led them to us. “If you reject this one,” he said low in my ear, “it’s straight to the butcher with her.” Someone called him away; he nodded at the stoop-shouldered man, favored me with a glowering eye, and left.

  “Tirdad,” Pacorus said, “is a weaver of cloth. He needs a donkey to help transport his work to the bazaar.”

  “Cloth only?” I asked. “Not stones or jars of oil?”

  “Cloth only,” Tirdad said.

  “No pregnant wife?”

  Tirdad laughed and pointed to his grizzled beard. “My wife and I are well past that, I fear.”

  “You will not overload the donkey?’

  “Nay, I’ll not.”

  “How long will you keep her?” I asked. “Only until you can afford a younger one?”

  “I’ll keep her so long as she can carry cloth to market.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Your Magus,” he interrupted, pinning me in his gaze, “can afford to keep pets—monkeys and birds and such.”

  And children, I thought. Was that why Melchior wouldn’t let Babak go? To retain possession of his most unusual pet?

  “But I’m a poor weaver,” the man went on, “and haven’t the means for pets. When this donkey’s too feeble to carry my cloth, I’ll put her down mercifully. This I promise, but only this.”

  I could see in his eyes that he told the truth.

  Well. There was nothing perfect in this wretched life. No matter how you tried, you couldn’t keep from betraying those you cared for. But small betrayals were preferable to great ones.