“Ah, that Leviathan Imperium.”
“As such, I wish to question you more closely. Knowledge of such things is prized.” The magistrate clapped, and two guards entered. “Show this gentleman to the Room of Great Understanding. I will speak to him later.” To Bone he added, “Do not fear! Knowledge is the root of wisdom, and questions are the seeds of enlightenment.”
As the guards grasped his arms, Bone asked, “Is truth like a tree of crystal?”
“I apprehend by your question that you do indeed belong in the Room of Great Understanding.”
“And I perceive that you have little true interest in your people’s welfare. I come to warn you about Karvaks borne through the air!”
“Amusing. I will in turn tell you of sentiences who swim through the sand, and whose works still direct our fates. Take him.”
“Sir?” asked one of the guards. “Will you not now sound the alarm against the Karvaks? This is the second report we’ve had—”
“I won’t have the peace of Shahuang troubled by such matters. Our friends beneath the sands will protect us from all things. Put this man beside Lieutenant Jia in the Room of Great Understanding.”
As the guards marched Bone down the stairs, a strange hulking man intercepted them, a fellow who seemed of great bulk yet light step, with his face shrouded by a turban. “I will take him the rest of the way,” said the man in a dry, rustling sort of voice.
“We have orders,” said one of the guards. “Who are you?”
“A friend.”
“Well, go away, friend, unless the magistrate himself orders us differently.”
Bone had an intimation about this person. Almost an itchy feeling. He groaned and feigned a swoon. “Oh, the heat . . .”
The bulky man unraveled.
That was the only word for it. The clothes scattered, the turban fell, and the carpet within opened up to engulf one of the guards.
With the second guard unbalanced, Bone heaved and knocked him from the staircase. The man groaned and struggled to rise. Meanwhile his companion twitched in the midst of being smothered.
Bone recognized the carpet he and his companions had brought out of the desert.
“Uh—carpet? Thank you, but that is enough! Let’s . . . make haste?”
The carpet hesitated, even as shouts rose from elsewhere in the pagoda. At last it billowed up from the gasping guard, following Bone down the stairs in a staggering, drunken way, something like a rag savaged by a playful dog.
“Very well, O thief,” said the carpet. How it spoke was a matter of some consternation, but Bone had the impression that the carpet was vibrating the air along its whole breadth. The voice was deep. “Yet you do not command me, not until I know for certain my true owner is dead.”
Bone nodded, looked this way and that, and beckoned the carpet toward a window. He climbed out, offering his hand. The carpet squeezed through, clutching the sill with a corner. They were three stories up.
“I do not claim to own you,” Bone said. “I would never claim a sentient being. Merely a sentient being’s possessions.”
“In my case, O rogue, being and possession are identical.”
“I am not your owner, carpet, though I confess to great curiosity as to who is. My more immediate question is, however, can you fly?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Your tone is not entirely encouraging.”
“I am improving, but still my flight is problematic. We could soar for a time, but the landing would be hard.”
“Do you see yonder wing-shaped lake? Perhaps you could aim that way.”
“Hold on.”
The journey was seven seconds of gyrating terror, and one of slapping, watery impact. Drenched, man and carpet scrambled out of the lake.
Bone looked over his shoulder. “I am limping. I fear we’ll be caught. But I thank you for your efforts. Do you have a name?”
“I am Deadfall. I, too, limp after my fashion. The dunes are high, but they are softer than rock or sword. If you think you can hold on, Imago Bone, I will convey you into the desert.”
“Know you the way to the ruins?”
“I observed your companions’ departure as surely as you. Do you have your essential possessions?”
“I lack my travel pack, but I have weapons and a little water. I always assume the necessity of a quick escape.” Bone knelt and grabbed the carpet’s edge. “I am prepared.”
“So you believe.”
The carpet lashed the air, whipped the ground, scaled the sands. Bone winced and whimpered and coughed but never let go. He heard the sounds of pursuit but never looked back. Suddenly they crested a dune and glided downslope, raising a small sandstorm as they sledded sand. Then up they went like a dry leaf over the heat of a fire.
From time to time Bone felt nothingness beneath them and dared to glimpse the desert from the air. The dunes seemed endless, arrayed in chaotic yet gentle contours like diaphanous ripples in a tan silk dress, dropped at the arrival of a lover.
After each such glimpse Deadfall would slam into the sands, a rude awakening from such fancies.
At last, after what seemed an hour, Bone could hold on no longer and tumbled to a shadowy valley between masses of sand. He retched, chugged some water, retched again.
From somewhere nearby, Deadfall said, “You are tougher than you appear, O meat.”
“You are likewise not what I would have guessed . . . cloth. Who sent you? How did you come to be among us?”
“I serve my maker Lord Katta, he who wanders the Braid of Spice battling the schemes of Charstalkers.”
“Charstalkers . . . I know that name . . . I feel as though I’ve heard the name Katta as well . . .”
“Lord Katta is a prince and lama of the Plateau of Geam. An enlightened being. He charged me to assist him in his quest.”
“Something must have gone wrong . . . if you will pardon my impudence. I thank you for my escape, Deadfall . . . but you are surely an unusual flying carpet.”
Something cold entered Deadfall’s voice. “Indeed, O cargo. I have been marred by many things.”
“And your maker?”
“Lost. Not dead, I hope, but lost. I carry on his fight. The Charstalkers seek what you seek. The Silk Map.”
“What are they, truly?”
“Agents of an ancient malice. Reborn to lives of hate, and reborn again, until their human and even animal forms have given way to a pure fire of wrath. Their knowledge of many incarnations allows them to possess other forms, for a time, but always they revert to the savagery that defines them. More to the point, they will soon find your companions.”
Bone rose, painfully. “If we are still hunted, we will lead the magistrate’s soldiers after us.”
“That may be to the good.”
“Do they not serve the Charstalkers?”
“I do not think so. I believe they represent another power—wait. Someone approaches.”
“A guard?”
“Perhaps. Stay here.”
“I can fight—” Bone began, but when Deadfall rustled off, he did not protest, feeling dozens of aches and scrapes.
Presently there came a muffled shout and the sound of something heavy flapping upon the sands.
Bone stumbled over two dunes to discover Deadfall swishing beside the body of the senior guard who’d greeted the group on arrival at Shahuang. His dead face was ghastly.
“I had thought him a decent man . . .” Bone said.
“We know those guards serve an evil. Evil must be smothered.”
“Alas.”
“Shall we be off then?”
After another long, careening flight Bone staggered through the sunset in time to see a balloon rising from the ancient temple.
Just as when he’d beheld the work of Haytham ibn Zakwan, Bone marveled at the inverted-teardrop shape climbing the sky. This one was larger than the balloon at Palmary years before; it bore a peculiar round structure of timber and hide, big as a We
stern peasant’s house. The balloon itself lacked the intricate patterning and calligraphy of Haytham’s design, but rather bore a simple hue of deep blue, a white raptor upon it, rising toward a crescent moon with its horns aimed skyward.
He squinted and spied figures peering out an opening in the great basket. He had the impression of a flash of auburn hair.
“Gaunt!”
“We are too late,” said Deadfall.
“Can you reach them?”
“I have not the skill.”
Bone’s gaze looked to the rocky hill of the ruins. Titanic statues, portraying the Undetermined and one of his Thresholders, looked back at him. “What if you had a flying start?”
“That will be a painful ascent for you. It might break you.”
“Let that be my concern. Drag me up there. I will cling to your corner as to a rope.”
“Be it on your head, O fool.”
The climb was much easier decided than endured. Despite a long career involving contusions, constrictions, and collisions, Bone discovered several new places to ache. At last he moaned atop the citadel of enlightenment, the sunset painting the world the color of hurt.
“Are you mobile, Imago Bone?”
Bone got shakily to his knees. “You . . . did not spare me at all . . . did you?”
“I reasoned you would prefer speed.”
“Alas, true.”
The balloon, a little below their altitude, was turning due west as a high easterly wind cut the desert air. Four other balloons were rising, each an undecorated blue. The three highest followed the falcon-balloon westward, while the last drifted southwest—possibly toward Hvam. The behavior of the sand below told Bone the lower-altitude wind came from the northeast. “Wizards,” Bone said. “Weatherworkers. Wind-Tamers. Whatever the Karvaks call them, they are guiding the balloons. If we can reach that high easterly wind . . .”
“Yes. A good leap and we might glide all the way to the craft bearing your Gaunt. We dare not delay.”
Bone backed up as far as he dared before running pell-mell toward the cliff. If this was all some elaborate trap, Bone thought as his feet left the stone, he had to concede defeat.
Defeated or not, he flew.
It was among the more terrifying moments of his life, yet he would always treasure it afterward, the time he soared, more or less, on a magic carpet. That it was more of a whirling dive than true flight, and that he was hanging from Deadfall rather than standing atop it—these were quibbles. Earthy, dusty heat rose from below. Sunset dunes twisted with jabbing shadows, like persimmons spattered with ink.
I am coming, love.
A falcon whipped past him, claws extended.
He dodged, but he was in the raptor’s element. Blood trailed from his face to join the sands. The bird shrieked and whirled around again, its grace a mockery of Deadfall’s jagged path.
He did not dare draw a dagger, but when the falcon passed again, he kicked. This accomplished nothing but to prevent another raking, but that was enough.
Or perhaps not—“You have thrown us off target, O thief”—for they collided with the balloon’s envelope.
Whether by impact or Deadfall’s decision, Bone lost hold of the magic carpet and dangled from one of the ropes that connected the envelope with the suspended ger. Quick looks right and left revealed no sign of Deadfall. He considered ending the flight with a dagger right then, but another look at the desert below convinced him to save the blade for another target. He shimmied down the rope and looked down upon the peculiar gondola. It had a hole in the roof, and a glowing cauldron of embers revealed the source of heat. Entry would be difficult . . .
The falcon returned, screeching. Bone thought he glimpsed something more than animal in the bird’s enraged eyes. Now he thrust his left arm between rope and canvas and drew a dagger with his right. Mad jabs prevented his losing more blood to the talons. The wound he’d already sustained dripped onto the roof of the ger. He worked his way closer to the hole; the falcon shrieked, and he yelped, shifted, and whirled as the cauldron inside belched flames.
This falcon is guided by someone within, he guessed. Very well . . .
“I want only the redheaded barbarian!” Bone bellowed at the bird when next it attacked. His kicks and jabs kept the raking to his arm only. He wheezed in pain. “Her, and any woman of Qiangguo you’ve taken. You can have the Silk Map if you want it so badly. Just give me my friends!”
The falcon gave no sign of response, but it broke off its assault, its path spiraling out over the sands. Still there was no sign of Deadfall.
The voice that answered through the gap was not one of his companions’. Yet it was familiar all the same.
“Imago Bone! Imago ought-to-be-dead-a-thousand-times-over Bone! You are the last person I thought to meet in this desolate place! And yet did not an antique poet say,
We’re nothing more than shadowed stones
Upon the board the All-Now owns
Dark or bright squares our nights and days—
Who can guess the ploys He lays?
In any event, well met! It’s good to hear a civilized voice.”
Bone called out, “I thought this might be your handiwork, Haytham ibn Zakwan ibn Rihab! Are the Karvaks your patrons now?”
“Indeed! Reports of their barbarity are somewhat exaggerated!”
“You didn’t have a look at Hvam?”
“All civilizations have their crimes! But these Karvaks are of a different mettle! Now, won’t you toss your weapons inside and join us?”
“That looks like an excellent opportunity to roast me. I prefer the air. Invigorating! Here’s my offer—land this craft and let my friends go!”
“This matter,” said a disconcerting voice at Bone’s elbow, “must be forced.”
Deadfall rushed past him into the opening of the gondola. Smoke belched through the hole.
“Aiya,” Bone muttered, and followed.
He landed upon Deadfall and rolled into the commotion of the flying tent. Someone had decided that breathable air was of more immediate concern than gravity and had flung open the tent flap. The ground rose closer, red closing off blue. “Gaunt!” Bone called.
“Fool,” said a woman’s voice, and it was not Gaunt’s.
Out of the smoke, a cut rope tied upon her wrist, came the assailant he’d fought upon a rooftop in Yao’an. “Your Gaunt is not here.” Fear and longing and the hues of sunset had confused Bone. “The mummies below the temple have claimed her now and the fragment of the map she bears. Neither you treasure hunters, nor the Karvaks, will find what you seek!”
She proceeded to kick at Bone, aiming to add crimson to the desert.
Another woman hit the assailant with an iron skillet.
The one-eared woman fell backward into the smoke. Bone thought he glimpsed three glowing eyes in the haze, but that was perhaps his imagination.
“Bone!” came the rasping voice of Snow Pine, as she dropped the skillet. “I don’t know how you found me! Flint and Quilldrake are on another balloon with Lady Steelfox.”
“Who?”
“Never mind!” Snow Pine looked out at the careening landscape. “Can we get out of here?”
“Yes,” said Deadfall, and a billowing, smoldering shape rushed toward them.
“Grab hold!” Bone told Snow Pine, and together they commenced a gut-wrenching journey out the opening and into the sunset.
“Bone!” called Haytham from the gondola. “You are making a mistake! Our goals are not disharmonious . . .” The voice was lost in the rushing of wind and the shouts of Snow Pine and Bone’s own voice.
“Eee—”
“Gah—”
“Cease your whining,” said the carpet. “I am doing all I can.”
Their impact sent Bone and Snow Pine tumbling into the sand. For several moments Bone lay there as Snow Pine coughed and Deadfall flapped itself upon the ground to slay any remaining embers.
The Karvak balloon was meandering southward, smoke tr
ailing it, in a wind that no longer seemed so directed. The falcon whirled around it as though bound by an invisible tether. A column of fire rose from the gondola in a manner that seemed eerily directed, never endangering the hide of the craft. The balloon rose.
Bone thought he glimpsed within the fire a new suggestion of three blazing eyes. He blinked, and it was gone.
Snow Pine offered her hand. “We’d best get into the temple. There may be a chance to find Gaunt and Zheng.”
“What,” Bone said, rising, “did our one-eared friend mean about mummies?”
“It’s a long story. Come on!”
“I will aid you,” Deadfall said, “for Lord Katta vanished in battle with walking mummies, and I would learn more of such creatures.”
“Ah,” Bone said, gesturing to the carpet, “Snow Pine, this is Deadfall.”
“I believe we’ve already met,” Snow Pine said. “At Yao’an. Did you go by the name of Dorje?”
Deadfall managed a bow.
As they ran between the great stone statues and into the temple, Snow Pine wondered at her changing emotions. Once she’d scorned her homeland and hated its enemies. Now she felt love for Qiangguo and grudging respect for the Karvaks. Likewise, she considered her companions her friends and Deadfall a mystery—but she recalled Deadfall’s warnings in Yao’an, and trusted Flint and Quilldrake, at least, a little less.
Flint. No, she had no time for her new feelings there.
There was an old conflict in Qiangguo, between the philosophy of the Forest, which saw all things in flux, and that of the Garden, which emphasized social order. Now, here beyond the Jade Gate, Snow Pine could see the two as complementary. With her feelings churning like the wind, it was good to have the solid stone of loyalty to remember—loyalty to her daughter.
“I will get you back,” she whispered.
“What is that you say?” rustled the carpet.
“I am promising to find,” Snow Pine said, wondering how Deadfall might respond, “my friend Flint.”
“He is still alive?” Bone said, locating one of the many torches abandoned in the Karvaks’ quick departure.
“Yes,” she said. “They took us at Hvam and brought us along on their expedition. They never meant to threaten Shahuang. They only wanted the clue to the map.”
The Silk Map Page 22