“‘The ways of Stargrace are strange, and even the Nightkindlers have glimpsed only a reflection of a mote of dust upon Stargrace’s smallest fingernail. Much remains hidden, like the valley below. What damnation and salvation truly are, I cannot say, only that union with Stargrace is greatly to be desired. I believe that some in the valley below may have achieved that state, though my words are not theirs. Perhaps you will go there one day. If you do, remember that the pillar of my wisdom is that within this fallen world, all who rise must also descend.
“‘Though mysteries abound like mist, you must at times trust to faith, though it seems a slender cord.
“‘I wish you joy.’”
Gaunt nodded to the sword. “Thank you. I release you, warrior.” Blue light filled the air, rising through the ceiling.
“Was that supposed to mean something?” snapped Zheng.
Bone snapped his fingers. “I think it was! Faith like a slender cord . . . do not sever what can be your lifeline.”
“The rope,” Gaunt said.
“Yes! We will need it for something.”
“Can you unravel it?”
“No!”
“Ah.”
“But,” Bone said, holding up his index finger, “there is something I did not try with this post.”
He gripped it and pulled upward with all his strength. It gave a little, and somewhere a mechanism groaned. “Something about the pillar of wisdom? How to descend, something must rise? Could anyone help?”
Gaunt, Zheng, and Swarnatep assisted him. The post ascended into the hole in the ceiling, and its base rose from a depression in the floor.
Simultaneously, the slab opened with a tremendous thud. The sound startled the four sufficiently—even the dead body—that they let go.
The pillar stayed up.
“My,” Gaunt said, looking down through some twenty feet of rock at a swirl of mist beneath the great beak of the mountain.
Bone removed the loop of the knot that wrapped around the iron. This done, unraveling the rope was simple enough.
It was hard to be certain, but it looked to him to be long enough to reach into the mists.
“A test of faith,” he said. “Faith in whomever set this up or at least in the strength of ironsilk. The path to Xembala must lie just beneath the clouds.”
“And if it does not?” Zheng said.
“Then they’ll have rope to hang us with.”
“That was not funny, Bone,” Gaunt said.
“Zheng had best go first,” Bone mused. “You and I can climb down, Gaunt, but we’ll secure Zheng and lower her first.”
“You are so sure there is something down there?” Zheng asked.
“When have cryptic religious figures lied to anybody?” Bone asked. “Very well, do not answer that. But we must be on the correct path.”
“I know how I can be of use to you, my old friend,” Swarnatep said to Zheng. “Tie the rope to me, and I will leap through the grave. Thus we will learn what is down there.”
“What if you are destroyed by impact?” Bone said.
“Or by the shock if the rope goes taut?” Gaunt said.
“I do not have so much to lose. I will try to maintain my grip on this body, but if I fail, what of it? I am destined for someplace else, and this body was always meant to fall. If there is an impact, you will know this is the path. If there is not, perhaps I will see something useful. If I wish to be drawn up, I will tug twice upon the rope. You must let me do this.”
“Thank you,” Zheng said.
They secured the dead woman, and without ceremony Swarnatep directed his borrowed body to jump.
Bone rushed to the grave. Down plunged Swarnatep, until his doll-like shape entered the endless clouds. A glance told Bone there was almost no rope left.
At the last possible moment, the rope went slack.
Bone released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “They did not waste any material, did they?”
“Well,” Gaunt said, “we are speaking of ironsilk.”
“Imago Bone!” called a familiar voice. “Persimmon Gaunt! Widow Zheng! I am Lady Steelfox, ruler of the Il-Khanate of the Infinite Sky. I can offer you sanctuary. But you must agree soon. Swiftly now, a runner will arrive with the keys to this tower, and then you will be at the mercy of the kagan of Qushkent.”
“We will never have time to lower me,” Zheng said.
“Trust me,” Bone said. “Gaunt, would you mind severing this wooden ball-and-chain, as close to my ankle as you dare?”
“I do not know, husband,” Gaunt murmured, sizing up the swing, “I have been rather irritated with you of late . . .”
“You think my jokes are inappropriate—”
She swung, and Crypttongue split the wood like a child snaps breadsticks. Bone could almost feel his soul tugged toward the blade. Imagination, surely. “Now remove the ball?”
“I have another joke in mind,” Gaunt said with a smirk.
“Time? Of the essence? Like a river? With a waterfall?”
She swung.
Lady Steelfox was saying, “It is said we Karvaks are brutal, but is it ever said we break our word? Snow Pine will not cooperate with me, but if she speaks true, then your goals and ours need not be at odds!”
Bone snatched the sash from his psychopomp robe. Twisting the wooden chain around the ironsilk line, he tied the rope to its ends. “Widow Zheng,” he said, “let me secure this to you.” She allowed him to tie her wrists to his arrangement. Then he used her own sash to tie a loose safety line from her to the ironsilk rope.
“What is all this?” she asked.
“You will slide down the rope,” Bone said. “I can’t promise your safety, but you can control your rate of descent. It is like falling, but with a rope always at hand.”
Lady Steelfox said, “Come with us! My balloonists have descended into the canyon, but they cannot land with confidence. Yet we are Karvaks, and we are willing to dare this! We will be stronger together! Be wise and consider your children!”
“She is not entirely unconvincing,” Gaunt said.
“She is a Karvak,” Zheng spat. “Am I ready?”
“Yes,” Bone said.
“So long, kids.”
Zheng slid in starts and stops, down toward the clouds.
“Are you ready, my dear—” Bone began, when a shadow fell upon the clouds.
A Karvak balloon was out there, and its archers were firing at Zheng.
Once again, Bone could hardly breathe. He saw one arrow, a second, a third, find their target.
Each one bounced off and spun into the void.
He gasped. “I am glad now, we decided to have her wear all the pieces of the map.”
“Yes.” As they watched Zheng slide into the clouds with a jaunty wave, Gaunt added, “We do not have magical armor, Bone.”
“That is a problem. Nor do we have sufficient material for rappelling.” He watched the round shadow drifting upon the white. “Even if they don’t find the keys they need, I expect we’ll have Karvaks in here soon.”
“Pull up the rope.”
They found the rope was slack. Either Swarnatep had removed itself, or Zheng had done the job. They pulled as quickly as they could and at last had all the rope within the tower.
“Now what?” Gaunt asked.
“A certain mad idea has occurred to me.”
“Surrender? A bloody last stand? A plunge into the void?”
“So many options! But consider: I have noticed that in addition to its extreme strength and lightness, ironsilk has great elasticity. I also noted the moment when Swarnatep hit something solid. If I judge exactly how much shorter to tie off the rope, we could secure ourselves to the far end . . .”
“And we would fall, reach the end of the rope, and be drawn back by its elastic response! In the end we would dangle just above whatever solid object is down there.”
“Yes! Is it not glorious?”
“Unless you misjudge. I
n which case it is fatal. In fact, if the shock of snapback is sufficient, it might be fatal regardless.”
“It is a stark choice. Surrender or a mad plunge.”
“You already know my answer.”
As Bone tied off the ironsilk rope, Gaunt spoke to the entities within her sword.
Our time is desperate, she thought. If any of you wish release—but not you, Charstalker—tell me your names. And if you are grateful, use whatever power a spirit possesses to disrupt the activities of those beyond that door.
Several voices assented.
Soon, many nimbuses of light rushed through the door, and the sounds of agitated soldiers and guards made her smile.
Now there is only you and I, said the trapped Charstalker. Her smile faded.
“I’m ready,” Bone said.
“So am I.”
They heard clicking at the door as he finished tying her off. She could see the tension in his face, as he forced himself not to rush the job, ready until the last moment to accept surrender, if he could not secure her properly.
He finished.
The door burst open. Warriors of city and steppe competed with each other to see who would reach the rogues first.
Gaunt and Bone shared a look and a smile.
They jumped.
We thought it was about time
Your personal demons and mine
Got a room.
We splurged.
You only get so many personal demons in this life.
The room was up in Riverclaw—
We packed our personal demons onto the Golden Epoch Ferry
In one of those big family cabins that isn’t really so big
With the fold-out beds and bunks and the concealed weiqi board
And told them to be good
And remember to write
And not to miss the whistle for the Foreign District
(Our personal demons were foreign devils after all)
And we waved goodbye, arm-in-arm, from the docks at Abundant Bamboo.
I like to imagine
Your personal demons and mine
Jockeying for the best view out the windows
Upsetting the top-heavy boat a little
And the neighbors a lot.
I like to envision
Our personal demons
Drinking cheap wine
The kind we’re embarrassed by
Even when we’re stone drunk
And somehow turning weiqi
Into a game of chance.
We found a room for ourselves too
We did not splurge
It was our usual one
At the Inn of the Five Bats
Which may take its name a trifle seriously
But nocturnal rustlings
Made agreeable counterpoint
To our own.
I like to envision
Your personal demons and mine
Having a good time too
Even though they cast alarming shadows
And made weird screechings
And scratched the furniture
And had a lot to say to each other
Of an incendiary nature
I’m sure I don’t want to know.
We said a lot of things too
Things you only say
On a quiet morning
When you know youth’s left for summer lands
And death’s sailed from the winter port we’ll visit last
And we’re a continent away from both
With just each other
And it hasn’t all been said
But maybe it doesn’t have to be.
I suppose
Your personal demons and mine
May feel they’ve been tricked
And may take it out on strangers
They may speak loudly
And act condescending
And make fools of themselves in nice restaurants
And kick doors and break windows
And wonder why nobody loves them
And weep steaming tears
Claw in claw
And refreshed, look for a gambling den.
We should bring them back, we agree
Sipping tea.
Any day now.
But they worked so hard
And needed their rest.
All our personal demons
Need a break from us
Once in a while.
—Gaunt, untitled, Xembala
As Bone fell, his first thought was, Whatever possessed me to think this was a good idea? I cannot even blame the Charstalkers.
At least the approach of death was beautiful. In a surprising cold silence the shelf of the mountain seemed to fall upward like a thrown stone, blaze of blue above it, birds prickly dark specks tracing strange messages he’d never understand. Three Karvak balloons bobbed like children’s balls, while a fourth swelled beside him like an ocean wave. Spears of darkness swished near them without hitting them, and he blinked his relief at the missed arrows even as he thought, Four balloons?
White engulfed them. Misty light made him think of various visions of the afterlife. Perhaps he could compare it with the real thing very soon.
He reviewed everything he’d done with the rope up above. It seemed to him he might have paid more attention to his work, enemy warriors notwithstanding.
What was Gaunt saying? I love you? How could you? Hard to say.
They reached the end of their rope.
The preternatural elasticity saved them from death upon whatever unseen rock lay below and propelled them back up above the cloud layer, where the Karvaks were waiting.
Bone saw the balloon looming above, the gondola-ger attached and soldiers looking down with what was surely a mirror of his own expression.
We’re going to hit—
Somehow Gaunt had freed Crypttongue. As they shot close she slashed the balloon. Impact ripped the sword from her grasp, but they were safely past.
Safely . . . the mountain shelf rushed toward them like a giant gray hand. It suddenly occurred to Bone he hadn’t allowed for the possibility of impact at the upper end. He shut his eyes.
Luckily, they were slowing down. Would they hit?
They hit.
They were fortunate, however. It was like falling hard from a ten-foot drop, but no worse.
Bone and Gaunt swore imaginatively, their curses trailing off as they fell once more.
When next they emerged, the Karvak balloon was plunging into the mists northward like a daylight moon disappearing behind clouds. As they rose they saw more balloons emerging from behind the avian scowl of Qushkent. Their ascents and descents were slowing, and Bone did not think fresh archers would have trouble shooting them now.
Down again, up again . . . yes, the pace was slowing, and the balloons descending.
“Cut us loose?” he managed to say. “Lowest point?”
“Why—the hell—not—” he thought she might have said.
He worked out a dagger and began cutting at their ropes. He did not tell her that he could only be sure of freeing one of them at a time, and that she was going to be first. This meant he was perhaps sending his love to her doom. Yet a brutal logic had been inculcated in him on the streets of Palmary, working from his feet up to his brain. You picked possible death over probable death, and having reached that conclusion, sending your friends to possible death was a kindness.
He timed it well. “I love you,” he said on a downward plunge and cut her loose.
She was entitled to a scream. She did not make one. Gaunt was gone.
And Bone was rushing up and away from her, into the presence of three Karvak balloons. He was surprised to find they were firing no arrows. Then he saw the peregrine falcon winging toward him. I hate that bird, he thought. He still had a dagger in his hand, and as he rose he waved it at the falcon, in between slicing at his lines. At the uppermost point of his ascent, it came rushing at him, pausing long enough for Bone to see
the message tied to its foot.
The bird shrieked menacingly, but Bone knew that was for show. He responded by waving his dagger and cursing.
It followed him down, for no natural creature can match a peregrine falcon in its stoop.
At the bottom of the plunge he finished the job and cut himself free. He tumbled like a sack of potatoes for perhaps five feet before hitting a rocky surface.
He screamed, as Gaunt had not.
Yet he remained conscious enough to know the bird had alighted beside him. Unable to see the falcon, Bone said, “You have earned a stringy thief as your meal, if you wish it.” Or perhaps he said it. Perhaps he simply groaned.
It did not peck at him. Bone reached out for the bird.
“Bone!” Gaunt was calling out of the mist. “Imago Bone! What are you going on about? And are you in one piece?”
“We have a messenger,” Bone said, unravelling the note from the falcon’s foot.
“He’s lost his wits,” came the voice of Widow Zheng.
“No,” followed the rasp of the dead woman, whose form was claimed by the spirit of Swarnatep. “There is a living thing beside him.”
“Bone!” Gaunt called more urgently, stepping closer.
“It is all right,” he said. Upon his claiming the message, the bird soared once more, so completely gone it was as though he’d imagined it. Yet the paper remained with him. It was impossible to read, here in the sunlit mists, so he pocketed it.
“Bone.”
“Gaunt.”
Fumbling, they found each other, embraced in the cold, bright whiteness. “You are unhurt?” Bone asked.
“Bruises. Abrasions. Terror. You?”
“Much the same. Swan’s blood! Painter’s tears! We really survived that.”
“Don’t be too sure. This could be the afterlife.”
“No,” put in Swarnatep.
“So,” Zheng said in the silence that followed. “There is still an ironsilk rope.”
“Hanging like a sword over our heads,” Gaunt said. “We must go.”
“But go where?” Bone said.
“I have senses you do not,” Swarnatep said. “I will guide you. Will you take my hand, Widow Zheng?”
“I—yes.”
Gaunt took Zheng’s hand and Bone hers. He wished they’d had enough rope to make a proper line. Still, being alive at all was something of a shock. Everything from this moment might fairly be seen as the cream on the milk.
The Silk Map Page 31