Voices emerged from the mirror.
A whispery voice: “Events crowd my mind, of wonder and woe. Why do you interrupt me?”
A gravelly voice: “I am engaged in severing limbs. It is the best part of my day. This had best be good.”
A smooth, measured voice: “Gentlemen. The lady never interrupts us idly. What do you wish, my dear?”
The fourth individual was silent.
“I have a prisoner,” said Jewelwolf. “One Persimmon Gaunt. Somehow she has vanished, or else made herself incorporeal. I would be grateful for your insights.”
Whispery: “That name is known to me.”
Gravelly: “It means nothing to me. You should have chopped off her arms. That slows a wizard down, you know.”
Smooth: “I know that name as well. She is no wizard. She is a thief who styles herself a poet. How—”
“The how is of no importance,” Jewelwolf said, “only where she is now.”
Smooth: “I had thought she was here in the West. Fascinating.”
Gravelly: “The Axe of Sternmark tells me she is near you, Karvak.”
Whispery: “The troll-jarl is correct. For a price I will tell you her precise location, and how to subdue her.”
Still the snow-white woman was silent.
Jewelwolf’s voice was cold. “Price? We are partners.”
Whispery: “You would not give away a wheelship on a whim, would you now? Nor I this information.”
“What is your price?”
“Persimmon Gaunt’s son.”
Gaunt seized Crypttongue.
The white woman in the mirror spoke. “Fool! She is there beside you!”
At once the world seemed to whirl about her as the Karvak guards shouted and Jewelwolf sucked in her breath. She would have only a moment—
The whispery voice said, “Tell her I will reunite her family, no conditions—”
She ached to hear the rest, but her arms had already betrayed her.
She brought Crypttongue’s blade down upon the cauldron.
An inscription was sliced in twain, and the Charstalker bellowed, “AGAIN! AGAIN!”
She swung until the cauldron shattered into fragments, and the Charstalker laughed its way into the heavens.
Blazing skyward it passed through the canvas of the balloon, burning a gap into its top.
They plummeted, out of control, until they smashed into something yielding, something that splashed and roared.
For a moment the ger was motionless; in the next it shifted backward, relative to its previous motion . . .
They were on the river the old poem named Aleph, plunging toward what might have been a sunless sea.
Still clutching Crypttongue, Gaunt scrambled out the ger’s opening and swam. She wanted to help Quilldrake, but she had no way of aiding him. When she reached the grass of the shore, she was glad to see him sputtering nearby. There too was Jewelwolf, and one surviving soldier, clutching his mistress’s bronze mirror.
Gaunt coughed and looked up. There stood a group of monks and nuns in orange robes, a wizened bunch, yet with a lively air about them. She saw expressions of compassion . . . and perhaps a glint of amusement?
She raised herself to one knee, sensing that these people, at least, could perceive her.
She turned and saw the balloon, and the Silk Map with it, washed down the great pit. Strangely, she felt a weight lifted.
Turning back she asked on impulse, “I don’t suppose any of you is named Mentor John?”
Imago Bone heard cymbals and horns sounding in the lamasery heights, as if this were a visit of state. Metallic clangs alternated with a sort of shimmering sound as musicians rapped the lower edge of one cymbal against the other, then the top edge, back and forth in an accelerating rhythm, then back to the short clangs. Meanwhile the horns sounded notes lower than any he’d ever heard, long blasts that made his teeth vibrate. It was a sound appropriate for the bright cliffs and the rushing river and the abyss. For a moment it was as though a burst of wind accompanied the music, and a great splash within the water, and a sound like the collapsing of a vast amount of fabric. Yet he saw nothing to explain these things.
The elders before Bone even shifted somewhat, facing him at an angle so that they could watch the river as well.
An ancient woman nodded to him. “I have been called Mentor John.”
Bone had met elderly people who resembled deserted ruins of their former selves. He’d known others who seemed animated within those ruins, as the people of a once-mighty city might make merry amid cherished monuments. This woman had neither aspect. Rather her face implied that youth was merely the stepping-stone to the grand state implied by her wrinkles and spots. Age was triumph, not loss. He read his own perplexity at this paradox in the amusement of her eyes. He looked away. He felt young.
“My name is Imago Bone, Mentor.”
He heard only a single indrawn breath, but the music ceased.
“I am glad you have come, Imago Bone,” the elder said. “I apologize for the rough manner of your arrival, though others have fared worse in their time.” Again, the hint of amusement. “You have revived more quickly than the others.”
“I took pains to inhale less of the green dust.”
“And you take pride in your ingenuity. No, I do not mock you! It is one of the less destructive ways to be proud. At this moment I too am taking a certain pleasure in my craft.”
“How so, Mentor?”
“You may call me this if you wish, but know that ‘Mentor John’ was a distortion of my title ‘Maldar Khan,’ itself a title bestowed by Karvak exiles long ago. Still, my true title is Teacher, which I suppose ‘Mentor’ approximates.”
“Do you have a name?”
“Names are relatively unimportant here, but I am often called Chodak. It comes from the Plateau of Geam and means ‘one who spreads the great teaching.’ Although we and the Plateau differ in many respects, it seems a fine name.” She laughed. “So, you know, in a way my name is Teacher-Teacher.”
“I can imagine you in a classroom of children, all calling you that.”
“Indeed! And at times I think of the valley as being full of my children. It was in a different life that I gained the name Maldar Khan. I have returned here many times.”
“This is a difficult notion for me.”
“That someone would name me a khan?”
“That people can be born, die, and return.”
“I understand.”
“But never mind that. Whatever happens after death will happen. For now, I come seeking your help.”
“If it is in my power to grant it, Imago Bone, I will.”
Some instinct told Bone to hold nothing back. In the presence of this person he felt accepted and understood, in a way he’d only known with Persimmon Gaunt.
“I am on a quest to bring Iron Moths to Wondrous Lady Monkey. I, my wife, and our closest friend are determined to succeed in this task.”
“I understand. But would you not prefer to find your children?”
Wet and sneezing, Persimmon Gaunt rose as the elderly woman said, “I have been many things. I think Mentor John may have been one of them.”
Upon the walls of the ruined monastery, a few trumpeters sounded eerie, deep notes, as a handful of cymbal-players clanged a welcome. The music was stirring, but too dim to trouble their conversation. “I’ve been looking for you,” Gaunt said. “But first, I must ask for sanctuary.”
“That is in my power to grant, Persimmon Gaunt, and fresh clothing besides.”
Gaunt stared. There was something in the manner of this old woman that made Gaunt feel understood and soothed. Gaunt’s paternal grandmother had been kind to her as a girl, and in a childhood full of scolding adults, Nanna was water in the desert. The lama before Gaunt was like that. It was unnerving to feel such a connection so quickly. Under other circumstances she might have suspected magic was involved.
And indeed, it was hard not to imagine sorcery dwell
ed here. Gaunt had the impression the elders were considering an unseen audience upon the grass, as though ghosts observed them all.
As Jewelwolf and Quilldrake approached, Gaunt said, “I need sanctuary from them. The woman has invaded your land. The man is a treasure hunter who would rob your land.”
“And you, you are neither invader nor treasure hunter?”
“No.” The lama’s eyes made it impossible for Gaunt not to say more. “I am a poet and, I must concede, a thief, but I will not rob you today. For I come as a mother. There is something in your land that a mighty Sage wants. If my husband and I can give it to her, then we, and our best friend, will get our children back.”
“I know something of this matter, for knowing what transpires in Xembala is a considerable portion of my work. You will have sanctuary, poet, thief, and mother. Your traveling companions will have hospitality, but you will have sanctuary.”
Gaunt saw how the other elders took Quilldrake and Jewelwolf by the hand. Quilldrake bowed and accepted the courtesy; Jewelwolf shook it off. But both proceeded into the ruins.
“You live in this fallen lamasery?” Gaunt asked.
“To my eyes it is not fallen but rather in the midst of its journey into a new state. As are we all. You will be comfortable, I assure you. Let us go.”
“Do you not wish to know the thing I seek? Before you accept me as a guest? For I would claim some of the Iron Moths.”
“I have guessed as much. If you will come with me, you may understand how it is I know. And you may see something you long for.”
Bone followed the procession of lamas into a strange garden, where fruit trees of many kinds rose beside stone basins attended by statues of the Undetermined and the Thresholders. Chodak stopped beside one such, as the others moved on, bearing Bone’s unconscious companions.
“They will be safe?” Bone asked.
“They will.” Chodak smiled. “You have had few friends, Imago Bone. You are concerned for them. And even for associates.”
“I’m nostalgic for friendly faces.”
“You are particularly protective of women.”
“I do not know what you mean.”
She smiled. “You have considerable desire, yet you are utterly loyal to your wife, she who is truly the other half of you. So you channel these stray feelings into concern. It is admirable in its own way, though it can lead you to recklessness.”
Bone did not much like these observations. “You spoke of children.”
Chodak nodded. She blew upon the waters of the basin, chanting in low tones.
The waters reflected the sky at first, but the image changed. The valley of Xembala rippled and faded, and now Bone beheld something he’d seen only twice before but had never forgotten—a fairytale mountainscape, pine forests covering the peaks, with one mountain bearing a monastery quite unlike the one that surrounded him now. This one was both freshly maintained and partially ruined, overgrown with trees and yet brightly painted.
“The scroll,” Bone said. “The scroll that holds our children. But is this my memory, or . . .”
“This is a recent Now,” Chodak said, “or a Now soon to come.”
A boy and a girl sat upon the edge of a cliff. Occasionally the boy would throw pebbles into the void. The girl was studying her bandaged left hand.
The boy looked like a pale Westerner of perhaps twelve years. He possessed dark red hair and a lanky frame. The girl, a daughter of Qiangguo, was of similar age. She was the very image of Snow Pine, though there was something in the set of her jaw that reminded him of Snow Pine’s cocky husband, Flybait.
Bone said, “It’s Innocence.” He had trouble continuing. “And A-Girl-Is-A-Joy.”
“I did not know their names,” Chodak said in a gentle voice. “But the pool can reveal what forces are acting upon you. These two are your sun and moon.”
“So much time has passed for them.”
“I sense you are correct.”
“Even if we succeed, we will have missed their childhoods.”
“That appears true. Though they are not adults yet.”
“Is it possible . . . to hear them?”
Chodak nodded and chanted low.
The girl was saying, “It grows stronger, Innocence.”
“Why talk about that?” the boy said. “Let’s talk about cloud kingdoms. We could talk about Crazy Animal Country, or War-Cat Kingdom, or Horse Queendom. You can pick.”
“I don’t feel like playing those games today.” A-Girl-Is-A-Joy frowned at her bandaged hand. “I don’t think it’s just a scrape. I think there’s something strange about it.”
“I’ve been thinking of a brand-new cloud kingdom,” Innocence said. “One with humans in it. I call it Rendworld, because it’s been broken into many peaks, each linked by bone bridges. It used to have a queen. But the insane king of that place returned after many years and took her with him. Now it’s all lawless, with different warlords. There’s a tree warlord, a boulder warlord, a moss warlord, a temple cauldron warlord, and lots of others. It will take champions fighting with sticks weeks to defeat them all. What do you think?”
“Walking Stick says he has no idea what it means, but I think he’s worried. Like there’s a power reaching out for me.”
“Like the one reaching out for me?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about your dreams? I’ve been dreaming about lakes beside green mountains, and vast brown rivers, and an ocean surging beside a city with more people than I’ve ever seen awake.”
“I have dreams . . . I dream about a land of rocky islands, with cliffs as big as this but dropping to a gray stormy sea. Sometimes I see people . . . they look a lot like you, Innocence, except more crazy. Proud, with armor and weapons and colorful thick clothing, and complicated hair. The men have beards, the women wear their hair long. I want to know more about them, but then I see them fighting, the men mostly, but a few women too. They hack and hack, turning seas and forests red.” She rubbed her forehead with her hands. “I think I’m going crazy. Maybe I belong in Crazy Animal Country.”
Innocence looked confused, worried. He reached out to her, pulled his hand back.
“I don’t know how,” he said, “but maybe the greater world’s reaching out to you as it reaches out to me.”
“I’m glad there’s at least someone who understands,” she said.
“I don’t really understand. I don’t even understand me.”
“Close enough.”
“It’s starting to rain.”
“Again? Let’s get back to the monastery.”
“We can try to ambush Leaftooth.”
“That sounds fun . . .”
The scene began to waver. Bone could still see the children, but superimposed upon them was Xembala’s sky.
“Chodak!” he said, wondering if an old harm could be undone. “Can the pool send me through?”
“No, Persimmon Gaunt,” Chodak said. “To send you there is beyond the pool’s power, and mine.”
Gaunt was still clutching the edge of the weathered pool with its statue of the Undetermined, weathered smooth as the surface of the pool with its perfect reflection of the Xembalan sky.
But she had seen what she’d seen.
“Where?” she said. “Where in the sea is the scroll? If you can tell me that much, Chodak, we can do the rest. We can mount an expedition, find magical gear to let us breathe water. Nothing will stop us if you can tell us where.”
“I lack that knowledge. The pool can search your karmic ties. It cannot seek a place in the ocean, for you have no such tie. Or at least no more than any other creature in this world. I regret that I have no greater boon.”
She lowered her head. “I have missed his childhood. He is well on his way to becoming a young man. And he is burdened, I can see it. Bone’s decision deprived Innocence of a parent. He is essentially an orphan.”
“You are angry at your husband.”
“Would you not be? Have you
ever been a mother?”
“I feel sure that I have, though it was not in this life. Just as I have been a father.”
“I do not even know what to say to that.”
“You do not need to accept the existence of my previous lives, Persimmon Gaunt. In a sense, they do not matter. For even were this my first time in the world, I would still be buffeted by the karmic influences that affected my family, and which prevailed in the time of my birth. Only the Undetermined, the Seekers, and the Thresholders have won free of such determining forces.”
“Chodak, I sense you mean well. I can feel it. But speaking with you and other followers of the Undetermined . . . it’s like arriving late to a party of poets who have just read and discussed a half-dozen works and their authors. I know I have missed something valuable, but it is unfair for you to expect me to comprehend.”
“That is a fair point. What I wish to say is that even if I had been a mother in this life, I would not necessarily understand your feelings. For my circumstances are my own, regardless. After all, it is not everyone whose child has been lost in a pocket reality.”
Gaunt could only laugh. “No, it is not.”
“Likewise, my not having been a mother is not necessarily an impassible wall to understanding. For we all share certain traits. And I too experience anger.”
“Have you wanted to hurt someone you loved?”
“That sensation is not unknown to me.”
“Aren’t you an enlightened person, beyond such feelings?”
“I think you know the answer. It is my office to embody, as well as I can, the attributes of one of the great Thresholders, she who is known in Qiangguo as the goddess of mercy. But if she is the wine, I am a cracked bottle. Through meditation and invocation, I attempt to caulk the worst of the cracks. It is a daily struggle. I, too, know rage. I must accept mine, as you must accept yours.”
“But it is a vile feeling. If I let it out, I hurt Bone. If I hold it in, it hurts me.”
“To challenge your own anger is to wage a heroic struggle.”
“As long as I’m committed to the quest, I can manage to not think about it . . . mostly. But I think we needed the quest so badly, we were too quick to trust Monkey. Swan’s blood! We’ve been wandering the desert on the strength of a rock-creature’s promises, some old legends, and a torn dress.”
The Silk Map Page 37