“And all evil for a thousand li knows this, and watches him with narrowed eyes. No, I risk much even setting foot in Qushkent. I must be about my research and vanish before day is gone.”
Ozan sighed. “You are using the stubborn voice. You are impossible when you’re using the stubborn voice.”
“I have no ‘stubborn voice,’” objected Lord Katta.
“Come along,” said Ozan. He shifted a ladder, and we ascended to a trapdoor, which he unlocked with one of the keys upon his chain. He repeated the process on the next level, and the next, until we stopped close to the brightening window. There was but one floor above us. Dust motes swirled like miniature constellations as Ozan pushed the final ladder to a place that did not correspond to a trapdoor but rather to a peculiar pattern of books within the stacks.
Most of the library’s codices had covers of leather ranging from black to tan to red; an occasional white color emerging like a rare desert cloud.
Yet in this section books with black covers had been shelved to compose a diamond shape, like a negative star. A single white book, almost dazzling by contrast, lay in its very center.
Ozan said nothing about this strange accident of organization, and it occurred to me that for all my master’s skills, he could not perceive the pattern of the books. I wondered if this was a matter of concern, but I dared not speak.
Ozan said, “Shall I list the relevant titles, Surgun?”
“No need,” Lord Katta said. “I wish to consult the Testimony of Sanguine Hong, the Geisthammer, and the Speculum Tyrannus.”
“A little light reading,” muttered Ozan, ascending. Three times he drew upon his keys, and three times unlocked books from chains. All the books were black. Descending, he set the three upon the balcony and sat cross-legged against the stacks. I noticed that he chose a position at one remove from the dark diamond. “What passages do you seek?”
“Shadowy ones, dear friend,” said my master and commenced inquiring of Charstalkers until the books were all opened.
“Shall I read for you?” Ozan asked.
My master shook his head. “I have much to consider, and you will have other duties.”
“But—”
“I have gained certain advantages since you saw me last,” Lord Katta said, and I nearly billowed with pride.
When Ozan had descended once more, Lord Katta bade me drape myself over the first book and read aloud, in a language he’d taught me.
O dread one, I began my testimony yesterday in the manner of a confession, and now I must confess that I lack heart to repeat all that I spoke under the stained glass. You and I, master, are rather in the position of those desert ants which sometimes scurry onto my surface, finding themselves lost amid turquoise and ruby swirls. Having entered into my labyrinths, the insects might reasonably conclude certain things about the world, that it is made up of fibers gathered in knots, that it possesses certain colors, that it lies more or less flat. If I were to fly, even in the spasmodic manner that is my curse, the ants would soon learn how dismayingly limited was their vision.
So it is with us. Humanity and its contemporaries make assumptions based upon narrow perceptions and pass these down as writ. Yet that which we think we understand is but a tiny patch of fabric in the desert of space and time, and even that patch may one day be snatched away.
By the time I heard Ozan throw open the nearest trapdoor, the glow through the image of flame overhead had dimmed and reddened. I went silent and still, but my master nodded to me as if satisfied.
“I have prepared a lantern and provisions,” said Ozan.
“You are too good to me.”
“That is true. Do you still have a lover at every oasis?”
“You overestimate my charms.”
“I do not think so. I should be wiser by now, but I wish you might stay.”
“You deserve better.”
“Is permanence still an illusion to you?”
“You know the answer.”
“I think you don’t even believe in your own life,” Ozan said. “Luckily for you, as illusions go, you are a pleasant one. Follow me.”
We followed the impertinent clerk down many ladders until the window of the fiery image was like a distant candle flame above. Down here in the murk were works of meditative self-improvement. It struck me as intriguing that diabolical works should be kept near Heaven, as it were, and these so far below ground.
Presently we stood before an iron door, which Ozan unlocked with a key that did not belong to the chain on his wrist. He opened the door, and a chill entered the library. A passage darker than anything I’d read of now lay before us. Ozan handed Lord Katta a lantern and a pouch. He raised the book chained to his hand. “I have not recorded you in the ledger.”
“Thank you.”
Ozan kissed my master then, and despite this impertinence, Lord Katta responded with warmth.
“I expect nothing,” Ozan said. “Just keep yourself safe.”
“You should expect better than a wandering lunatic. Be wary, Ozan.”
“This is the heart of Qushkent,” Ozan said as we passed through the portal. “Boredom is our greatest threat.”
“May that ever be true. Farewell.”
The door closed behind us with a clang. My master sighed and padded into a dusty, rough-hewn passageway.
“You did well keeping quiet,” he said. “Thank you for that.”
“It was hard not to speak. You allow people to take too many liberties. You are a person of stature.”
“Ha! I am a wayward lunatic, is what I am. But fortunately I am a lunatic no longer traveling in the light.”
“How far does this tunnel extend?”
“Many li. It links to deep subterranean places. But it also connects to the karez system of underground irrigation channels. By this means we can move far into the desert. While hostile eyes watch the caravans, we will be safely away.”
We reached a crossroads, and without hesitation he turned left.
“And then where do we go?”
“Into the desert itself. I have other tricks. Beyond that, I think we shall be going to Shahuang, perhaps first with a stop in Yao’an.” At another intersection he turned right.
“I thought you were chased out of Yao’an.”
“That is mainly because the chief assistant to the Protector-General became jealous I stole a lover from him. Imprudent of me, but we’ll be fine if we keep our heads low. Well, my head, your corners.”
“I’ve been keeping my corners low, as you say, and I have been thinking about our reading. So—we seek the Silk Map? To find Xembala?”
“To deny Xembala to exploiters. The world is full of them. Imperialist Qiangguo. Conquering Karvaks. Money-worshipping Westerners . . .” He had paused, touching a section of wall. “There is a hidden door here. It’s been touched by evil.”
“You can see it?”
“I’ve a gift, if you could call it that. I perceive entities of great negative karma, and their residue. This power I’ve possessed since childhood, and even when disease claimed my sight, the Sight remained. Natural light makes little impression on my eyes, but the monsters’ essence does, as black dogs might be glimpsed against evening shadows . . .”
There came a click, and a section of stone slid aside.
“I take it we are investigating.”
“Yes.”
We proceeded down a tunnel with many branchings, and my master confidently took many turns, sure as a hunting hound.
Abruptly he said, “Do you want a name, carpet?”
“What?”
“We have traveled far together, and you have never given me a name. Perhaps I could give you one? I have had so many aliases.”
I wondered at this impulse but found the question intriguing. “What is your favorite name?”
“At this moment I’m partial to ‘Mad Katta’! But if I ever return to the Plateau of Geam, land of my long-suffering mentors, I will be Dorje, which you might re
nder as ‘Gemcut.’”
“And what was your first name?”
“My milk name is forgotten,” Katta said. “But when I was cast out by the True People, they called me ‘Deadfall.’ For I was cut loose from my roots in the northern forests, like a fallen tree. It seems an inauspicious name however—”
“Deadfall,” I said, liking the sound, leaving the rest to muse upon later. “I approve.”
“Strange . . .”
“What?”
“We are here. The center of the disturbance.”
A new door slid open, and we entered an empty chamber lit by alchemical gems. The floor was inlaid with a mosaic portraying an interesting pattern of three hares. The walls were filled with holes, with wind whispering through them. But these were not the most intriguing features of the room.
Placed upon a railing ringing the hare-pattern, lofted by small platforms of honor, were dozens of severed ears.
Lord Katta murmured a sutra. I was rapt by the grisly majesty.
“Master—”
“Sh. Listen.”
Now I could hear snatches of voices, laughter, arguments, conspiracy, conveyed through the many holes to the many ears.
“Some magic is at work here, Deadfall,” Lord Katta whispered. “The ears are not entirely dead. Their former owners can still listen through them, and by means of these holes hear much of what transpires in Qushkent. And Qushkent is perhaps the hub of the Braid.”
“It also occurs to me, master,” I replied with low vibrations, “that whoever stands in this chamber can issue orders to a small army—”
He raised his staff. “Something comes. Something tangible. Something that slaps against the corridors, as one wearing rags. We must go.”
“I suggest I resume my role as guide.”
“Agreed.” Soon his staff was in his left hand, while his right clutched my tassels. I flapped my way through many more turns in the darkness. In time he said, “The symbol of the hares reminds me of old rumors. There may be more than one party attempting to guard Xembala. But if so, I am greatly concerned.”
“Why? Would they not represent allies?”
“Perhaps. But why would the protectors of paradise invite Charstalkers to their sanctum? For that is the very evil that led me to the room of ears—wait.”
“What?”
“That which we heard earlier has crept nearer. Or something very like it. I—”
With a hiss a figure leapt out of the darkness.
It was humanoid, with dry, leathery skin and empty eye-sockets filled with crimson light. Golden jewelry hung around its neck and wrapped its thin fingers. Something else wrapped it too, pale strips of what at first I took to be cloth, inscribed with unfamiliar runes, twisted and jagged. These bands engulfed most of the thing’s body.
It clawed at Lord Katta, who swung his staff and connected with the head in a dry crack! By then I could throw myself around the creature, immobilizing it. Any hope that I could smother the thing soon faded, however, for it clawed and kicked without pause.
I felt great offense as to the entity’s disinterest in air. I constricted myself as much as possible, and when this seemed only to hem it in, I twisted myself into the shape of an arch. I heard a dreadful popping and crunching within me. Dreadful, and yet satisfying. When I unrolled myself, the creature twitched but could no longer move.
“Well done,” my master said. “Now let’s run.”
But even as he spoke, three more entities leapt from the darkness and grabbed his ankles, knocking him over onto the stone. He spoke no more as they dragged him out of sight.
At dawn Bone, Gaunt, Quilldrake, and Widow Zheng all awoke, each trying to outdo the other with complaints.
“I had nightmares . . .”
“Ah! My string arm . . .”
“I am getting too old for this . . .”
“‘Getting’ too old for this? I passed that oasis long ago, youngster . . .”
In this manner they packed their bedraggled camp. Bone stumbled over a beautiful carpet, swirling with colors and patterns, that he’d never noticed before. “Where did this come from?”
“Eh?” said Quilldrake. “Must be Zheng’s.”
“Not mine. I’d remember a thing like that! It looks expensive. Though it’s had rough treatment.”
“I agree,” said Gaunt, frowning. “I’m certain I did not see it before.”
Quilldrake scratched his chin. “Well, perhaps Flint bought it when we were separated. It hasn’t been our best-organized expedition.”
“We’d best leave it behind,” Gaunt said. “It will be hard to carry.”
“Not a chance! Have you seen what these sell for? If Flint bought it, he’s going to have to dispose of it himself.”
Somehow they got the gear, even the carpet, loaded onto packs. They kept Zheng’s load light, but even so Bone was concerned for her. Yet nothing for it but to walk.
Hours passed. Bone’s wrenched foot was somewhat improved, but he still slowed them down. Slowly, like a drifting ship, a range of bare hills loomed closer. When they arrived they saw no life, not even shrubs or lizards or birds. Bone remembered the thing that had raised dust earlier. He looked behind but saw nothing. He hung his head.
“Are you all right?” Gaunt asked him.
“All this . . . desolation. I feel small, Gaunt.” He shook his head. “We may never get him back, Persimmon. If this does not work . . .”
“If it doesn’t work,” she said, “we’ll reach the West, and a whole new range of possibilities.”
“If this doesn’t work. . . . How can I ask you to start a family with me again?”
“You cannot begin to ask me that.”
“I understand.”
“Husband, you cannot understand. Time was different in the scroll. I knew our son for as long as I have known you.”
There was nothing to say to that. The others were either too respectful to interrupt, or too tired. Bone had the fleeting impression Quilldrake’s pack twitched. Nerves and heat, surely.
Wearily they struggled their way to Hvam. They regarded the ruin in silence. No one greeted them.
“I am very worried,” Quilldrake said.
They passed the gates and skulls and found the camels clustered around a well. Nothing else stirred.
“Peculiar,” Bone said, patting Scoff.
“Suspicious,” Gaunt said. “Look around. There are remains of bonfires.”
They noted five such, and signs of the passage of large numbers and the impressions of tents. Round tents. Nearby lay caches of dry meat and, hidden in cool shadows, skins full of yoghurt and mare’s milk.
“Karvaks,” Zheng said, tasting the milk and spitting.
“Karvaks?” said Quilldrake. “No hoofprints? Karvaks without horses?”
“Miraculous, not suspicious, may be the watchword,” Bone said. “I have no explanation better than ghosts.”
“Ghosts do not eat yoghurt,” Gaunt said. “These Karvaks have some subtle means of crossing the desert. What, we don’t know. But we must assume they captured our friends. And that they’re using this ruin as a base. So where are they now?”
“I can guess,” Quilldrake sighed. “Shahuang is the closest town.”
“We must warn them,” Zheng said.
“We’re likely too late already,” Bone said.
“We must try! You see all around you what the Karvaks do!”
There was silence, before all nodded.
They tossed enough trade goods that all could ride, all night and through the day. (Quilldrake refused to discard the carpet.)
At last they crested a row of dunes and were startled by Shahuang.
“They call it the Butterfly of the Desert,” said Zheng. “I can see why.”
In the midst of tan sands, small twin lakes of shockingly blue water stretched out like wings. Someone with geomantic training had contrived green fields and a cluster of buildings to complete the illusion that a butterfly of turquoise, emerald
, and ruby had landed upon the sands. Like a pin piercing the butterfly, a straight stone road ran from Shahuang eastward, where after many li it would eventually reach Qiangguo’s Last Fort.
“I see no trouble,” Bone said.
“In a way that worries me more than if we saw them, Bone,” Gaunt said. “Let’s approach with caution.”
“Don’t we always?”
Gaunt gave him a look she’d learned from the camels. As they threaded the green fields, children emerged from farmhouses and paced them, yelling various inanities.
Wandering holy folk! Desert madlings! Are you from Madzeu? Qushkent? Are you ghosts?
Gaunt smiled and waved. “They do not seem very invaded.”
There was no guard post, but they’d been spotted, and a pair of armored men, their equipment rather less spotless than that displayed in Yao’an, rode up on horseback.
“State your business,” said one. The tone sounded harsh to Western ears, but Gaunt sensed there was no true hostility.
“We come—” Zheng began.
“We are dealers in silk and tea, medicine and spice,” said Quilldrake, cutting her off with a warning look. “We’ve come a long way across the desert.”
“Three of you indeed look as if you’d come a long way. The fourth looks as if she might have been kidnapped.”
“Do not insult your elders, boy!” said Widow Zheng in her haggler’s voice, though she scowled at Quilldrake. “I go where I wish, with whom I wish.”
The guard grunted and nodded to his partner, who dismounted and poked about the camels. “Interesting carpet,” the second guard said. “Otherwise the wares look much like what you’d find in Yao’an.”
“In the barbarous West,” Quilldrake said, “my people struggle to imitate the treasures of the East. You do me honor by saying we have approached that ideal.”
“There is no dishonor in saying you got lost in the desert,” the mounted guard said.
“Sir!” Quilldrake said with reproach.
“Ha. You can go in. I am less interested in your wares than in your news. Did you happen to notice strange flying creatures in the desert?”
“No,” Gaunt broke in. “In fact, I would find it strange if anything at all lived in that desert.”
The Silk Map Page 18
